Splitting Up
by LittleBluestem
Summary: A "Road Trip" story... My first foray into fanfictiondom...
1. Chapter 1

"I hate when we split up, Heyes! Nothin' good ever comes of it when we split up," groused the Kid.

"Just shut up and hold still and so I can look at your leg, Kid. It's only for a little while. Let me get you patched up and then you're just gonna lie low here while I lay a false trail. I'll be back before you know it to get you to a doc."

"Quit your fussing, Heyes, it's just a scratch," the Kid batted his partner's hand away from the bloody, ragged hole in the thigh of his jeans. But despite his words, his face was ashen and he swayed slightly as he attempted to stand up. Heyes quickly threw an arm around his partner to prevent him from toppling over, then steadied his partner's frame as he sank back into the pile of musty hay.

The two former outlaws were hunkered down in what was apparently an abandoned barn. The only illumination in their shelter was a shaft of silvery moonlight shining through a large chink in the roof. The ramshackle house they had crept past may or may not have held sleeping occupants, but it had been quite some time since this barn had housed any animals beside the three half-grown owlets that were perched in the rafters above, downy feathers puffed out as they hissed in alarm at the intruders huddled beneath them.

Their one remaining horse stood in a corner, head down, hungrily munching on the leftover hay. Her flanks were glossy with sweat and she was breathing heavily, having carried twice her accustomed burden for the last several miles.

The posse had been unrelenting. Heyes had been in the lead and the Kid trailing behind, firing bullets over their pursuers' heads, but the men following soon realized the object of their pursuit was not actually aiming for them. Unfortunately, the lawmen and newly deputized townsmen had no compunctions about not returning the favor.

When Kid's horse suddenly went down, Heyes had immediately doubled back, kicked his foot from the stirrup, and reached down to haul his partner up behind him. He'd pushed his little mare mercilessly until the posse was out of sight, then expertly laid no less than four false trails. The pounding of hooves and the muffled shouts growing fainter and fainter convinced him the posse must have fallen for one of them. It was only then that he slowed the exhausted horse to a walk, steered her across some rocks and into a shallow brook and waded her upstream until he reached a rocky bank on the opposite shore. As they emerged from the water, he realized the Kid was no longer upright, but was instead leaning heavily against his back.

"Kid?" he whispered. "Are you hit?"

He felt his partner struggle to sit up and heard his gruff response,

"Just a graze."

Heyes could tell by the strain in his partner's voice that his injury was worse than he was letting on. Fortuitously, he'd spotted the decrepit old barn, almost completely concealed by overgrown vines, and decided to take a chance on stopping and seeing to the wound. But he couldn't afford to tarry there much longer. The posse would soon figure out they'd lost their quarry and might double back and eventually pick up their trail again. Heyes intended to lure them away from the Kid's hiding place.

As he deftly tied his bandanna around the Kid's bloody thigh, he scolded the injured man,

"This ain't a scratch, Kid. The bullet is still in there and it needs to come out. You are going to lay low in here while I suss things out and that's final."

Heyes scanned the barn, then stood and approached the horse, and was soon stripping her of their gear.

"That's alright, old girl," he crooned softly. "You're gonna rest, too. But not just yet. I just gotta ask you to do one more thing for us."

A plan was starting to form in the back of his mind and he apologized to the horse as he heaved some sacks of what looked like flour onto her back. He mentally calculated how much extra weight he needed to add to ensure the mare's tracks were deep enough to appear as though she were still carrying two riders.

Before remounting, Heyes swapped his blood-soaked bandanna for a fresh one, noting in satisfaction that the bleeding had all but ceased. He ripped the jeans further to get a better look at Kid's leg. The bullet hole was small and neat, but there was no exit wound and that was a problem. He crammed the bloody bandanna into his pocket, then made sure his partner could reach the canteen and the saddle bags with their cache of food. The Kid was fuming silently at being so helpless. He looked up at his partner, silhouetted in the doorway.

"You be careful, Heyes. If they catch you, I'll come bust you out."

"Have a little faith, Kid," was the light retort.

It was too dim to see his face, but Curry could just picture the familiar dimpled grin that his dark-haired partner would have been wearing as he slipped out into the night, leading the laden mare behind him.

At that moment, the female barn owl swooped in silently through the broken window with a large, limp shape in her beak. She settled on the rafter beam, and the baby owls, almost as big as their mother, jostled noisily around her for their meal. The largest one nabbed the morsel and the other two squawked in protest. Apparently not considering the prone man on the barn floor a threat to her young, the owl soon flew out again, in search of another rodent to feed her babies. Kid couldn't help but feel a sort of kinship with the owlets, so big, but so helpless and ungainly, unable yet to fly and hunt on their own, dependent on their parents to bring them food, forced to wait impatiently in the rafters. Here he was, waiting helplessly and impatiently in the hay below for his partner to return. At least he had his .45 in case the posse found him - his last thought before he drifted off to a restless sleep, the silvery-blue moonlight playing on the golden curls spread out against the straw.

ooo

Heyes pushed the mare onward, backtracking their trail to the brook. He swam her well downstream to a muddy spot near where he had first entered, then made a much more obvious trail on that side of the river, so that it would appear as if they had not crossed, but merely stopped to take a drink and bind up their wounds. Then he dismounted and pulled the soiled bandanna out of his pocket and squeezed several drops of blood from it, staining the muddy bank and the surrounding vegetation with the crimson liquid. He trampled all around the area, making it look as if they had tarried there for quite some time. He remounted the mare and prodded her into a trot, leaning over her side, squeezing out more drops of blood as they progressed. Heyes didn't know if he should be grateful or alarmed that there was enough blood to make a conspicuous trail.

After proceeding several miles, he could again hear the low rumble of hoofbeats and the distant voices of the posse, this time gradually getting louder. The men had picked up the bloody trail and were now spurring their horses onward in excitement. Heyes eyed some low-branched trees ahead and whipped the mare into a gallop. Just as they entered the copse of trees, he stood up in the stirrups, caught onto a branch and held on for dear life. The horse kept going, picking up speed now that she no longer bore the weight of her rider. He hauled himself up into the branches of the tree above the trail and perched there breathing heavily but silently, praying that the horse had enough energy left to continue for at least a few miles. Soon the posse came into sight. Heyes held his breath and counted the riders as they passed just beneath him, so close he could smell the sweat of the men and feel the shaking of the tree limb he was grasping. Five, six, seven… Seven men, including their leader, Marshal Milt Harcourt, a man he did not care to cross paths with ever again.

Harcourt had recognized them in Boggsville, just about sunset the evening before. Heyes replayed the scene in his mind. He had experienced the curious sensation that time itself had somehow slowed down. The partners rounded a corner in one direction just as the Marshall rounded it in the other. Eyes locked. There was simply no point in pretending to be someone else. They knew Harcourt and he knew them and they all knew it. Harcourt had instantly gone for his sidearm, but the Kid, bless his heart, had been faster to the draw. His shot blew Harcourt's holster clean off his gunbelt before the lawman cleared leather. This had naturally annoyed Harcourt, who let out a stream of invective as he chased after his errant sixgun, skidding as it was along the dusty street, still ensconced in the now amputated holster. This gave Heyes and Curry the few precious moments necessary to bolt for their horses – thankfully tied to the hotel's hitching rail a few blocks away, still saddled, for the boys hadn't yet completed their usual routine of checking out the town. However, it didn't take Harcourt long to round up six men who were goaded on by the prospect of sharing in the $20,000 reward, not to mention earning bragging rights for being the ones to finally bring down the notorious and elusive pair of outlaws. They had been chasing them for more than 24 hours straight, apparently stopping only long enough to rest their horses, but always picking up the trail shortly after.

Heyes waited in the branches until he could no longer hear the posse. Then he lowered himself from the tree silently and began to walk in the opposite direction.

ooo

It was almost nine pm when the scruffy-looking man entered the stage coach office, surprised yet relieved to see a lamp still lit. The agent was just getting ready to shut the office for the night. He was supposed to have closed up and gone home by now, but had stayed open late after a large group of men led by a self-important US Marshall had barged in and demanded to commandeer fresh horses from the stage coach line's stables. Claimed they were a posse hot on the trail of those infamous outlaws, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. At first the agent had protested, but the Marshall implied he would be charged with obstruction of justice or some such if he didn't cooperate. Fenton was too small a town to boast its own sheriff, so the clerk reckoned he had no recourse but to comply. He got the men and horses sorted, and they had ridden out in a cloud of dust. Now he finally had the posse's mounts comfortably settled in the stable and was ready to close up and head home when this disreputable-looking fellow ambled in. A trapper maybe, speculated the station agent to himself, raggedy and unshaven, sporting a straggly goatee and wearing clothing that needed washing as badly as their wearer.

"Hold on there, Sonny!" called the man in a thick, countrified accent. "When does the next stage leave?"

The agent sniffed and almost ignored the shabby character, until he realized he was waving some bills at him. As long as he's a paying customer, he thought, who am I to judge? A lot of eccentric folks out West…

"There's a six am tomorrow morning to Glenview," he responded politely. "$13.50 one way."

"Gimme one ticket to Glenview!" barked the man, then added somewhat casually, "Bill Porter still the sheriff there?"

"Bill Porter? Don't know that I know of any Sheriff Bill Porter. Clay Jackson has been sheriff of Glenview as long as I can remember. You sure you're not thinking of Glen Point?" asked the agent as he wrote out the ticket and counted out change.

Hannibal Heyes grinned from behind his fake mustache. "Oh, yeah, I always get those two towns mixed up," he answered, satisfied that neither he nor the Kid were acquainted with a Sheriff Clay Jackson.

"Wait a minute, Sonny," he continued. "Is there a train to Glenview?"

"You want the stage or the train, mister?" The agent was getting a little impatient. He wanted to go home, eat some warmed-over dinner, and collapse into bed.

"Well, just wanna know my options," drawled the scruffy man.

"There's an express train from Oak Knoll to Glenview tomorrow afternoon – but it don't stop here in Fenton for passengers. The next local runs through Tuesday, four pm."

"Stage Coach it is," was the immediate answer.

"Okay, mister. Here's your ticket. Meet the stage right out front of the livery stable. Only stops here long enough to change horses and pick up passengers. If you're not there at six on the dot, he leaves without you. Hope them horses are rested up by morning."

The agent seemed like he wanted to complain about something to someone and Heyes was all ears.

"Some tin-horn US Marshall came riding in here an hour ago demanding I trade his posse's horses for some of ours. Seems he spotted Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes down in Boggsville and he's been chasing them a night and a day."

"You don't say," Heyes answered. "Heyes and Curry, huh? Did they catch either of 'em?"

"Naw, but he seemed to think they were headed north to Oak Knoll. Said one of them was wounded and bleeding bad. The way they was talking, sounded like Curry," answered the man. "Them horses was run hard, too."

Heyes thanked the agent, pocketed the ticket, and ambled over to the saloon to see if there was any more news about the posse. He would also buy some food to take back to his injured partner holed up in the barn. He smiled to himself in smug satisfaction. North to Oak Knoll was the direction he had sent the game little mare, flour sacks still strapped to her saddle.

ooo

"Alright now, Kid. Here's the plan. You get on the 6 am stage to Glenview. Here's your ticket. We can't be seen together. And, try not to limp too much if you can help it. They know one of us got hit. Go straight to the doc there. I'll be on the train right behind you."

The partners had walked the three miles into Fenton in the pre-dawn gloaming, Kid insisting he was fine, but grimacing each time he put weight on his injured leg and not protesting overly much when his partner wrapped one arm around him for support. They had reached the outskirts of town, but they didn't dare risk being seen together.

"Quit motherin' me, Heyes," grumbled his partner. "You be careful jumping that train, now. I know ya didn't sleep a wink last night so ya gotta be tired. You never woke me for my watch."

Heyes didn't argue the point, but answered conciliatorily, "Train don't come through 'til four, so I've got plenty of time to rest up some. There's where the stage stops, right there. You can sit on that bench and wait for it."

He slapped his partner on the back and faded into the shadows, no longer wearing the raggedy disguise.


	2. Chapter 2: What Happened to Kid Curry

Chapter 2. What Happened to Kid Curry

Note: These next few chapters tell what happened to Kid. After that, the story turns to what happened to Heyes. If you prefer, you could read the Heyes chapters first, then the Kid ones and the story will still make sense. Heyes's story will begin in Chapter 7, which will be posted in a day or so...

The stage coach pulled to a halt in front of the livery stable just as the edges of the eastern horizon began to pinken. The grizzled driver looked about for passengers, and spied only a dusty young cowboy sprawled on the bench, hat tipped over his face, possibly sleeping off the celebrations of the night before. He had a pair of saddle bags and a bedroll piled next to him, but no other luggage. The boy from the livery stable emerged into the lightening day, yawning and scratching, and commenced to unharness the horses from the coach.

"Folks," called the driver. "We're only stopping long enough to change horses. You can get a cup of coffee in the café, but drink up fast. We're leaving as soon as we're hitched up. You coming along, kid?"

Kid Curry looked up from under the brim of his hat as the passengers began to disembark, startled at being addressed so directly, but he soon realized the stage coach driver was an old timer who was referring to him only generically as "kid." He plastered on his best poker face and answered, "Yup," then rose gingerly and gathered up his belongings, careful not to show any outward sign of the searing pain shooting through his wounded leg. Heyes had torn up a spare shirt, bandaged him up, and helped him struggle into a clean pair of trousers. As long as he didn't limp and nobody noticed one leg of his pants fit considerably tighter than the other leg, no one would be the wiser.

Curry stood watching as the other passengers disembarked. There were five: a severe-looking lady, some years past middle age, tall for a woman, but skinny as a beanpole; a slick-looking man in his 30's that the Kid immediately took for a traveling salesman; an older couple, the man balding and thin, dressed in a dark suit, like a banker or lawyer, the woman grey-haired and plump in a motherly sort of way. He wondered idly if they were the parents of the final passenger, a young, pretty girl in her late teens or early twenties, who glanced around curiously as the dignified gentleman took her hand to help her step down. Her gaze was bright and lively, and she appeared to be taking in every new sight in the sleeping little town with delight.

In other circumstances, Kid would have been pleased to share a stage coach with such a lovely traveling companion, but at the present moment, it took all his concentration just to remain upright and to keep a neutral expression on his face. His leg was throbbing now and he was beginning to feel a bit light-headed. He hoped he'd be able to get into the coach without falling down or otherwise embarrassing himself. He suspected Heyes was lingering somewhere nearby, where he could see without being seen, and briefly considered signaling for his partner to come help him get in. But once the passengers and driver had disappeared into the café, and while the stable boy was occupied harnessing the fresh horses, Kid made the attempt. On the third try, suppressing a groan, he managed to clamber inside. He felt a slight wetness and realized to his dismay that the bullet hole had begun to bleed again. Breathing heavily from the exertion, Kid crammed himself into the corner of the stage so the bloody left side of his thigh was pushed up against the wall of the coach, out of sight. He rested his head against the back of the seat and let his eyelids droop closed. Maybe when they reached their destination, he could wait to get out after everyone else had walked away and nobody would notice…

Kid must have dozed off while the horses were changed, but woke abruptly to the commotion of the other passengers returning and climbing up into the stage coach. First the thin older woman settled into the seat across from him. Next, the lively young girl popped into the coach.

"Good morning!' she trilled cheerfully and attempted to sit next to the good-looking cowboy, but just then a firm hand on her upper arm steered her onto the opposite seat, next to the first woman.

"Evangeline, I think you would do well to sit next to Mrs. Daniels," the owner of the arm pronounced authoritatively.

As the young woman reluctantly sat down across from him, the other, more matronly woman settled her plump derriere next to the Kid. Last, the two men climbed in. The older man sat protectively next to the girl called Evangeline while the younger one in the slick, ill-fitting suit slid in next to the plump matron. At that moment, the driver stuck his head in the window.

"Howdy, son. Ticket?"

Kid fumbled in his vest for the paper ticket and reached across to hand it to the old man.

"Glenview, huh? Should get there by suppertime tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Kid asked blankly, thinking he had heard wrong.

"Yup. Didn't the ticket agent tell ya? Whitestone Bridge is washed out. We'll be going the long way 'round through Sage Creek. Adds a full day to the trip. We'll overnight at Cooper's Inn. Name's Tully. Need anything, just knock on the roof. All set folks?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but instead hauled himself onto the driver's seat, released the brake and with a "Yah!" and a sudden jolt, they were on their way.

Curry's heart sank. Suppertime tomorrow, he thought bleakly. I'll bleed to death by then. Or be raving from infection. He could already feel the beginnings of a fever and his brain was having a hard time processing the new information. He replayed the driver's helpful words in his mind: knock if I need anything, huh? How 'bout if I need a doctor? Ya gotta doc sittin' up there with ya, Tully? He tried to fight the despair that was rapidly spreading through him. Think, Kid, he told himself. What would Heyes do? Maybe he could just _will_ himself to hold on until they reached Glenview…

Kid wasn't sure how long she'd been speaking before he realized the woman seated next to him had been talking for some time. He concentrated hard, but he was having trouble focusing.

"Are you listening to me, young man?" She snapped.

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled.

"As I was saying, since we're going to be sharing a stage for two days, it's only civilized to introduce ourselves to one another, don't you agree?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am," the Kid managed to smile politely.

The smile must have worked. She seemed to soften some and continued formally,

"I am Mrs. Whittaker and this is my brother, Dr. Henry Granger. We live in Glenview. We are returning from Denver, from where we are escorting our niece, Miss Evangeline Granger. She's coming to live with us. And I would also like to present my dear friend, Mrs. Daniels, who was visiting her granddaughter in Denver and is also returning home to Glenview. And the gentleman over there is Mr. Jenkins. He is new to our acquaintance and is traveling to Glenview on a business venture. And you are…?"

But Curry didn't answer. Did she really just say DOCTOR Granger? Could he in fact be sharing this stage with a real, bona-fide medical doctor? For once had luck been on his side? He felt hope slowly returning.

"And you are…..?" she repeated expectantly.

"Name's Jones – Thaddeus Jones," he finally uttered, but it took concentrated effort to form the words. He must have been slurring his speech because Mrs. Whittaker responded accusingly,

"Young man, are you inebriated?"

The Kid struggled to sit up straighter. "Oh, no, ma-am. Just tired is all."

"Humph! Then you must be suffering the after-effects of a previous night of intoxication," she sniffed haughtily, turning away from him.

Dr. Granger cast a professional eye onto the passenger slumped in the seat next to his sister. He looked pale, his skin a little clammy.

"No, Helena," he contradicted, concern in his voice. "I think this boy is sick."

Just then, Kid's head dropped heavily onto the shoulder of his seatmate, as he was no longer able to fight the blackness tickling at the corners of his vision.

Mrs. Whittaker let go a small shriek but quickly composed herself. When she reached to push the offending curly blond head off her shoulder her demeanor instantly changed from prim and proper outrage to motherly concern.

"Oh dear, you're right, Henry. The poor boy's burning up!"

The doctor reached diagonally across the stage to feel for himself.

"What if it's contagious!" cried Jenkins, shrinking into the corner.

At that moment, the stage hit a particularly sharp bump. As all the passengers were jolted roughly up and then down, Curry's head jerked upright and his blue eyes fluttered opened. He struggled to focus and rapidly took in three pairs of compassionate female eyes staring at him. From somewhere far away he discerned a deep male voice.

"How long have you been ill, Mr. Jones? What are your other symptoms? Have you been in recent contact with any persons with communicable ailments?"

"I knew it!" bawled Jenkins, "We never should have let him on the stagecoach! We're all gonna get whatever it is he has!"

"Don't worry, mister," Kid smiled sardonically. "What I got ain't contagious. You can bet your life on that."

"And just what is it that you have, young man? And where did you get your medical training that you are able to self-diagnose?" inquired Dr. Granger, somewhat sarcastically.

Instead of answering, Kid reached his left hand down to the side of his upper leg. When he raised his open palm again, it was slicked with blood.

"See? Just got a little bit shot is all," he grinned weakly, then passed out again.

This started a flurry of pandemonium in the stagecoach. All the women started fussing over the unconscious man while Jenkins complained bitterly that Jones would probably die on the stage and then they'd all be stuck riding to Glenview with a dead body. At last the doctor calmed everyone down and managed to trade places with his sister. He pulled the Kid's limp form across his lap and examined the injury as best he could, considering the bumping of the stage. He immediately discovered the point of entry, but failed to locate an accompanying exit wound. The boy's thigh was warm to the touch and swollen. Kid moaned as the doctor palpitated the wound and his eyes opened. He found he was staring at the floor of the coach. With grim determination he pulled himself back to a seated position and concentrated his efforts on remaining conscious.

"That bullet needs to come out!" Dr. Granger stated emphatically. "We need to stop this stage and find a suitable place to operate."

"I'm on it!" cried the young girl and all of a sudden, in one fluid motion, she disappeared out the window.

It had happened so fast and it seemed so incongruous that the Kid was sure he had imagined it. He peered blearily around the stage. The girl was definitely not there anymore. Kid shook his head, as if to get the cobwebs out of it. Was he already delirious with fever or did she just -

"Oh, don't be alarmed. Out little Evie is quite acrobatic!" her uncle explained, with apparent pride in his voice. "She's been working as a circus performer for the last six years!"

"Henry!" his sister gasped, "Remember, we weren't going to mention Evangeline's –er – previous occupation. The whole idea of bringing her to live with us is so that she can find a nice, respectable husband. How is that going to happen if word gets out that she was" –she lowered her voice to a whisper – "a performer!"

"Don't worry ma'am. I ain't exactly respectable," the injured man smiled crookedly. "And I won't breathe a word of it to anyone in Glenview."

He found it reassuring to learn the girl really had slipped through the stage window and onto the roof and that he hadn't been hallucinating in delirium as he had at first surmised. Suddenly an upside-down face peered into the window right next to his. Okay, now I am delirious, he told himself, but it was immediately apparent by the reaction of everyone else in the stage that they saw the dangling girl as well. The widow across the seat from him jumped back in alarm, the girl's aunt immediately started to 'tut, tut' her disapproval, and the salesman Jenkins let out a low whistle. Only the doc did not seem surprised, but immediately inquired,

"Well? What did Mr. Tully say?"

"He says he knows of a ranch about three miles ahead. He's going to stop there."

The face disappeared. They could hear Tully urging the team on faster and felt their speed increase along with the rough, up and down jouncing. With every bounce, the Kid felt a stab of pain slice through his leg, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to die on this stage after all! He was certainly not a religious man, but nevertheless he found himself breathing thanks to some nameless divinity for his unexpected good fortune.

As the stage coach ate up the miles, Dr. Granger continued to talk about his niece. Kid tried to concentrate on his voice, but he found himself having difficulty following the narrative; he kept missing pieces here and there, but he listened as best he could. He had had enough experience both in being wounded and in tending to his wounded partner to understand that the doctor was trying to distract him from his pain and keep him conscious by talking to him.

"Evie is our brother William's youngest daughter. He met a girl from Chicago and settled there with her. But sadly, Evie's mother died when she was born. William never remarried, and Evie grew up in a house full of older brothers, so I fear she turned into quite a tomboy. When she was 16, William died and she was sent to live with her maternal grandmother – quite a strict old "grande dame," from what I've heard. Helena and I wanted to bring her to live with us at that time, but before we could make the arrangements, Evie ran away and joined a circus! I hired a private detective to track her down and fetch her home. But to our surprise and relief, the circus wasn't at all what we had feared! In fact, it was a small, family-run operation – The Brindizi Family Circus. The family took her in like she was their own kin. The five Brindizi brothers treated Evie like their own sister. They kept a close eye on her, you can believe that. And she was so happy. So we let her stay there. Mrs. Brindizi wrote me letters once a month with the latest news. Evie doesn't know it, but I've even seen her perform a few times. She's quite something, our Evie…"

"Ah, but last month, Mrs. Brindizi wrote that she and her husband had decided to retire and sell the animals and equipment to Ringling Brothers up in Baraboo, Wisconsin. Two of the Brindizi boys went to work for Ringling, but the rest decided to leave the circus life and settle down. That's when we arranged to pick up Evie in Denver and have her come live with us in Glenview. After the exciting life she's led, I fear she'll be bored in our sleepy little town…"


	3. Chapter 3

At the moment, things were plenty exciting for Evie and she felt a thrill running through her like a living thing as the stage raced pell-mell down the rough road, her heart pounding in her chest and her long hair flying behind her. When the stage pulled up to a prosperous-looking ranch, before it had even come to a complete stop, she leapt off the box and dashed up the steps to the house and began pounding on the door. It was soon opened by a clear-eyed woman in her early 30's, holding a baby. A chubby-cheeked toddler was pulling on her skirts. Before Evie could explain what they needed, the woman saw Tully and Doctor Granger helping the injured passenger hobble from the stage between them, his arms slung over their shoulders, the two older men supporting his weight. He appeared semi-conscious, his head hanging down, booted feet barely shuffling along in the dirt. His left pant leg was soaked red with blood. As a rancher's wife for the last eleven years and a farmer's daughter before that, Laura Woods was accustomed to emergencies. She assessed the situation calmly and pulled the door open wide, instructing the men as she did so,

"Get him in the kitchen. I just washed off the table." Then she turned and hollered toward the barn, "Stevie! Come take care of these horses!"

Aunt Helena and Mrs. Douglas were now hurrying up to the house, trailed by an annoyed-looking Mr. Jenkins. A boy about ten, evidently Stevie, emerged from the barn and jogged over to the stagecoach, where the team stood blowing and panting, their hides lathered up from their breakneck gallop. A lanky young cowboy, no doubt one of the ranch's hands, appeared from behind the barn and immediately hurried over to help Stevie with the exhausted horses.

"Evie, dear," her uncle directed as he and Tully muscled Mr. Jones up the porch steps, "you run fetch me my medical bag from atop the stage."

By the time Evie returned with the bag, they already had Mr. Jones laid out on the kitchen table. The lady of the house handed her Aunt Helena a kitchen shears and soon she was snipping open the injured man's pant leg from the ankle up. Her uncle was at the sink vigorously washing his hands and arms with strong-smelling lye soap.

"Here's your bag, Uncle Henry," she set it on the sideboard. "Can I stay and help? I used to assist the circus Vet all the time. He said I had a natural instinct for medicine."

Her Uncle turned around, drying his hands on a clean towel and answered levelly.

"This is a person, Evie, dear. Not a horse or an elephant."

"Oh, our vet used to fix up all the performers that got sick or hurt, too. The Brindizis couldn't afford a people doctor, but Doc Maynard used to say human beings are really just another type of animal."

"I think not, Evangeline," spoke up Aunt Helena. "I will assist my brother with Mr. Jones. Mr. Tully will hold him down. Mrs. Woods here has also offered to help us." Evidently, Evie had missed the introductions.

"You will please take Mrs. Douglas outside for some air," her aunt instructed firmly.

Evie looked over at the elderly widow. She was staring at Mr. Jones' leg – or rather at the copious amount of blood that had soaked into the bandage around Mr. Jones's leg and was now starting to collect on the table's surface and drip onto Mrs. Woods' clean kitchen floor. Her face had gone very pale and she looked a little woozy.

Mrs. Woods was bustling around the kitchen, the baby on her hip, gathering clean towels and pulling out a large metal pot from a cupboard. When a young girl about eight years of age appeared at the back door and looked in curiously, the mother quickly handed off the baby and the toddler to their older sister and shooed them into the back yard. She went to the pump at the sink and began filling up the pot with water while instructing Mr. Tully to stoke up the fire in the wood stove.

Evie took one last long glance at Mr. Jones, stretched out on the table, struggling to remain conscious. He looked so solid and, well, so manly, she thought with a sigh, but so helpless and vulnerable, too. Her heart nearly melted. But she pulled her gaze away and placed a helpful arm around Mrs. Daniels' shoulders and escorted her from the room.

"Oh that poor boy," the old lady kept murmuring, "that poor, poor boy."

"He'll be fine, Mrs. Douglas," the younger woman reassured her. "My uncle is the best doctor there is."

She hoped fervently that her words were true.

ooo

The two women stepped out the back door onto a shady, grassy lawn. There was a neat, well-kept vegetable garden, several beds of colorful flowers, a large tree with a rope swing hanging from it, and a clothesline with sheets and towels and shirts and other garments flapping gently in the breeze. The three children were now seated in a patch of sand, the toddler busily digging with a little shovel and emptying sand into a small metal pail. The baby dug happily with his pudgy hands while the older girl repeatedly prevented him from stuffing handfuls of sand into his mouth instead of the pail. A little farther from the house, near the large barn, was a corral with a few horses in it. There were some other outbuildings, including a bunkhouse and a chicken coop. It was such a peaceful, homey scene, Evie thought admiringly, wondering what it would be like to live in a place like this instead of in a circus wagon, never staying in one town for more than a few days.

"Let's walk over to the corral, there, Evangeline," the widow said. "I don't trust that Mr. Jenkins further than I could throw him." The sight of the weasel-y Jenkins appeared to have kindled within her a sudden sense of purpose.

Evie looked up from her reverie to see the oily traveling man in his garish suit strolling up to the corral just as the boy Stevie and the ranch hand emerged from the barn, where they must have been seeing to the stage's team of horses.

As they approached the group, they heard the hand asking Jenkins,

"Who was that man they brung in just now? Was he shot?"

"Is he that outlaw everyone's talkin' about?" interrupted the boy eagerly. "Everybody's talkin' 'bout Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry getting chased through these parts by a posse. And one of 'em got shot!"

"The man calls himself Jones," answered Jenkins. "He got on the stage in—"

"Mr. Jenkins," interrupted Evie abruptly. "Will you walk with me? It's such a beautiful day and the flowers over there are so lovely." She batted her eyelashes at him prettily.

Jenkins was taken aback. He had tried chatting up this fancy little piece of fluff since they'd all boarded the stage in Denver the previous day and she hadn't so much as given him the time of day. Now all of a sudden she was coming on strong. Wait a minute – the old man and the old lady, her aunt and uncle, ain't around, he realized. When the cat's away…Jenkins mused, smiling smugly to himself.

Two more hands came riding into the yard just then, looking around curiously as they dismounted.

"What's goin' on, Jake?" asked the first. "What's the stage doin' here?"

"Old Tully brought some fella in to get doctored up," answered Jake. They's all inside seein' to him, 'cept these folks here. Didja finish with them fences, Cal?"

"Nah, we came back to get some more bobwire. And Smitty said for us to tell you he wants you to go help him round up some strays over by the crick," answered Cal. "So what happened to that fella? He sick or something?"

"No!" cried Stevie. "He was bleeding all over the place! I think he musta got shot!"

"Yeah, and Stevie here decided he's one of them outlaws everybody's been talking about," added Jake, teasingly.

The other newly arrived hand spoke up, "It ain't no joke! I heard in town it was Kid Curry that got shot. And it weren't too far from here neither."

"Didja see what color his hair is? Heyes has dark brown hair and Curry is fair-haired," the youngster informed the group, proud of knowing these salient facts, possibly gleaned from a dime novel or maybe even the wanted posters he found so fascinating to peruse whenever he went along on a trip into town.

Jenkins was now torn between the sudden flirtatious interest of the lovely Evangeline Granger and his stirring suspicions that they had all been sharing a stage with a wanted criminal – a wanted criminal that was worth quite a bit of money, too. Ten thousand dollars, to be exact. Stevie wasn't the only one who read wanted posters…

Evie was beginning to harbor the same suspicions. She'd never seen a wanted poster herself, but she'd read plenty of dime novels. One of the Brindizi boys collected them, and she read everything she could get her hands on when they were traveling between venues. She suspected a famous outlaw like Kid Curry was worth an awful lot of bounty money and Jenkins appeared to be the type of man who would jump on the chance to cash in on it, no matter the consequences to another person's life. Partly out of inspiration and partly from desperation, Evie grabbed Jenkins by his arm and pulled him over to the corral, away from the other men.

"Wanna see me walk on this fence?" she asked. "Betcha don't think a gal like me could do something like that!"

At the same moment, the widow Daniels piped up, "He's got red hair. Like mine when I was a girl. After all, he is my grandson."

"Your grandson?" sputtered Jenkins, turning back to the group. "That's a good one! He only just -"

Evie yanked on Jenkins's sleeve with surprising force before he could protest that none of them had ever laid eyes on the injured man before he had boarded the stage just a couple hours earlier.

"Mr. Jenkins," she purred softly, so the others couldn't hear. "Have you ever been to a circus? Have you ever seen the costumes the ladies in the circus wear?"

That caught poor Mr. Jenkins' attention sure enough.

"Well, I don't have my costume with me," she went on in what she hoped was a seductive tone, "but maybe you could picture how I would look like wearing it. It's all spangles and sequins and it fits me _real_ tight and it's cut _real_ low in front. The skirt is so short you can see my whole legs right up to here."

Jenkins felt himself grow warm as the girl gestured to the middle of her thigh. He swallowed hard.

"Can you picture that?" she asked softly, staring directly into his eyes.

Oh, yes, Carl Jenkins could picture that quite well, thank you very much. But he couldn't manage to get the words out, nodding his head up and down dumbly instead.

"Good. Now you have to picture that we're in a big white circus tent and that this fence here is really a tight-rope, okay?"

Jenkins didn't answer. He had gotten a little stuck on the part where he was picturing her in the circus outfit.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Daniels still had the attention of the other males.

"Don't believe a word that city slicker says," insisted the old lady. "He's a traveling salesman," she sniffed disdainfully. "They're different from honest, hard-working cowboys like _you_ men. They lie to make a living, you know. And he would say _anything_ to discredit my grandson because they've both taken a shine to that young lady over there, ever since we all boarded the stage together in Denver yesterday."

Now the hands' attention drifted over to the pretty young lady who was drawing the traveling man away from the group. They looked her up and down with appreciation and exchanged knowing glances.

"And he wasn't shot," the elderly woman continued, "He was gored by a bull."

That got their attention back to her.

"In Denver?!" one of the hands scoffed.

"No, on the road. Just this morning. The stage became stuck in a deep rut. That lily-livered excuse for a man over there did nothing to help, but my Thaddeus immediately came to our rescue. Just like any one of you _real_ men would do."

Each man present and even the boy Stevie readily agreed that he would do the manful thing, not act the sissy like Jenkins.

"But just after he pushed the stage free, a stray steer came out of nowhere and gored him in the leg!" exclaimed the widow dramatically.

"A steer? Before you said it was a bull!" the hand called Cal remarked dubiously.

"Steer, bull, what's the difference!" she waved her bony hand at him in dismissal.

"Well, Grannie, I expect a lady of your – ahem – experience would know how to tell the difference quite easily," teased Jake with a devilish smile on his face.

"Humph! Of course I know how to tell the difference – I just didn't look THERE," she snapped.

As old as she was, there was a hint of flirtation in her answer and the men gathered around her all started laughing appreciatively. They couldn't help but speculate that she must have been a bit of a firecracker back in her day.

"And now look, my poor grandson is inside getting sewn up by the doctor and this milk-sap is beating his time with the young lady."

She pointed to the corral fence, upon which now Evie was performing her tight-rope act. The injured man in the kitchen was instantly forgotten as ranch hands and children alike crowded around to watch the lithe young lady pirouetting upon the narrow fence, executing little hops and poses as she made her way along its length. It was like a dance, only performed in a straight narrow line. None of them had ever seen anything like it before and they looked on in wonder. Sometimes she'd leap into the air and whirl about, landing so she was facing the opposite direction. At other times she'd balance on one foot and despite her full skirts, they could see the other leg stretched out horizontally behind her in a graceful pose, arms spread out like a ballerina. The ranch hands and young Stevie whooped and cheered. The little girl and the toddler were clapping gleefully. Even the baby, balanced now on his sister's hip, was staring wide-eyed. When Evie turned a cartwheel, they all applauded, including Mrs. Daniels, even though she had been a bit shocked to catch a glimpse of lacy petticoat as the girl performed the trick. For the grand finale she took several running steps and launched herself into the air where the fence made a sharp right-angled corner. She seemed to defy gravity as she tucked her body into a tight ball, rolled into a somersault in mid-air and landed on her feet in the grass. Then she put one hand on her hip and threw the other up into the air with dramatic flare, tossing her head back with a dazzling smile, cheeks flushed pink from the exertion, eyes sparkling, as she acknowledged the applause regally, just as she had so many times under the big canvas tent with the Brindizi Family Circus.

Now the men and children crowded around her talking all at once, asking her how she'd come to learn such amazing feats. They were interrupted by the sudden slam of the screen door and they all turned to see Mrs. Woods striding out of the house.

"The operation's over," she announced. "The boy's fine. He lost a lot of blood, but he's awake and the doc says he just needs to rest up. They're loading him into the stage right now and Mr. Tully asked that you and the other passengers meet them up front. He wants to leave right away to try to make up the time he's lost."

Then she called to the group of ranch hands,

"Boys, back to work, now! My husband doesn't pay you to stand around gawking. Stevie, go harness up those horses for Mr. Tully. Sarah, I'll take Timmy back so I can feed him while you and Maggie get to weeding that bean patch for me."


	4. Chapter 4

Soon the stagecoach was bouncing down the bumpy trail. Evie was once again perched up on the box with the driver so that Mr. Jones could stretch out across one seat of the coach, his head cradled in Mrs. Wittaker's ample lap. Across from them on the opposite bench were the other three passengers, Mrs. Daniels watching the sleeping figure of Mr. Jones with concern, Dr. Granger, who reached over to feel his forehead periodically for signs of fever, and Mr. Jenkins, who eyed the man's sandy blonde curls suspiciously. The traveling salesman hadn't forgotten what the ranch hands had said about that outlaw Kid Curry getting shot near here. He had hoped to get a closer look at the wounded man's holster. He'd heard that gunslingers filed down the front of their holsters so that their gun would slide out of it faster when they drew down on someone. And everybody knew Curry was a fast-draw, maybe even the fastest alive, so it was said. But when Jenkins had boarded the stage, the other men had already loaded Jones in and the injured man was lying on his right side, the holster hidden from view.

Mrs. Daniels had suggested Mr. Jenkins ride up top with the driver, but before Jenkins could protest, Mrs. Whittaker had surprisingly insisted that Evie should go back up instead. Trying to keep her away from me, Jenkins surmised, smiling to himself. His masculine ego was still puffed up after the way the girl had flirted with him so blatantly as soon as her aunt and uncle were out of sight. It didn't occur to him that if he had sat up top instead of her, that would have just as effectively kept them apart, and therefore it must have been someone _else_ that Mrs. Whittaker was trying to keep her niece away from...

For Evie's part, she would have been thrilled to be the woman supplying the lap that supported the golden head of the slumbering cowboy who was quite possibly a notorious outlaw, but she enjoyed sitting up top in the open air and sunshine, watching the world go by. She'd never been out west before, and she was already in love with the land. For one thing, the sky was so much bigger here. Back east everything seemed so hemmed in. Here it seemed like the sky went on forever. And there were mountains and strangely beautiful rock formations. Even the weeds growing along the side of the trail were new and different to her and she didn't know their names. Everything seemed young and wild here and that made her feel somehow freer than she ever had before – like her life was filled with infinite possibility.

As they rode along beneath the cloudless blue sky, Evie tried to recall everything she could from the books she'd borrowed from Paulo Brindizi. All those stories said that Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were both tall, muscular, and devastatingly handsome. Heyes had dark hair and brown eyes and Curry had blonde hair and blue eyes. After that, the books departed from one another considerably on the particulars of the famous outlaws' appearances. But they were consistent on other details: Heyes was always described as a criminal genius and an expert safecracker. The Kid was known to be the fastest gun in the West and he was forever saving his partner from certain death by shooting a corrupt lawman in the shoulder or a hangman's rope clean through, always just in the nick of time. Although the two men were robbers, they were generally portrayed as good-hearted thieves, unfailingly gallant and polite, and constantly giving away their ill-gotten gains to poor widows and orphaned children. And they were always risking their necks to save some beautiful damsel in distress, who would naturally fall in love with one or the other of the outlaws. Sometimes there would even be a farewell kiss. Evie had always felt a thrill run right through her entire body when reading the description of the kiss. But inevitably, Heyes and Curry would ride off into the sunset, leaving the poor girl behind with a broken heart. Evie sighed to herself, deciding that the inevitable broken heart would definitely be worth that kiss…

ooo

The horses had been well-rested at the Woods' ranch, and Tully was eager to make time, so he drove them hard. They made excellent progress, arriving at the next station ahead of schedule. Mr. Jones was left sleeping on the stage while the horses were changed and the passengers went inside to eat some lunch. The meal-time conversation eventually veered onto the popular subject of the posse chasing Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. But whenever Mr. Jenkins opened his mouth, someone from the stage would interrupt him and change the subject. It was as if an unspoken conspiracy to protect the wounded possible outlaw had bloomed spontaneously among the driver and the other four passengers. Jenkins scowled to himself. So they don't want me to let on about our infamous fellow passenger, he thought darkly. Probably want to keep the reward money all to themselves. Well, I'm just as much a part of this as they are. I deserve that bounty as much as the next person.

The rest of the afternoon went on much like the morning until sometime around sunset, when Mr. Jones finally woke up. He opened first one blue eye, then the other, frowning in confusion. His fellow passengers had been dozing, but when he moved his head slightly, Mrs. Wittaker opened her eyes and smiled down at him, her hand gently stroking his forehead.

"Shhhhh," she soothed. "You're on a stage, remember? Dr. Granger took the bullet out of your leg. You're going to be just fine. How do you feel?"

"Starving," was the one word reply.

"Well, that's a good sign," she smiled. "Do you want to try sitting up?"

She helped him struggle to a sitting position where he sat surveying his ruined pant leg in consternation.

"Sorry, but we had to cut your trousers off you. Mrs. Woods washed and sewed them up for you, but I am afraid they are not quite as good as new," she explained apologetically.

"That's okay, Ma'am," answered Jones sincerely. "I appreciate all you and your brother did for me. Don't know how much longer I would have lasted."

By now, the other passengers were awake, too. Dr. Granger reached over once again to feel the Kid's forehead and nodded in satisfaction that there was still no fever.

"You're a very lucky young man," the doctor pronounced. "The bullet was lodged against your femur. It passed through the muscle, missing your vital blood vessels. I'll line up some crutches for you to use when we get to Glenview. I don't want you putting any weight on that leg for at least two days and you shouldn't ride for at least three."

Jenkins smiled to himself. It had become increasingly apparent to him that the others were interested more in coddling criminals than handing them over to the authorities. But if Curry was going to be laid up in Glenview for a few days, Jenkins would have the perfect opportunity to do the deed himself - and become $10,000 richer in the process.

Not long after, the stage pulled up to the next station. This one was larger than the last as it served double-duty as a wayside inn. They would eat supper here and spend the night before heading on toward Glenview in the morning. Once again Tully and Dr. Granger supported Jones as he limped to the house, only this time his head wasn't lolling on his shoulder and he was propelling himself, rather than being half dragged along. As they climbed up the porch steps, delicious smells from inside greeted them. Jones's stomach rumbled audibly and the older men laughed.

"You're in luck, son," boasted Tully. "Mrs. Cooper's the best cook on this whole line. And it smells like she fixed her specialty: chicken and dumplings."

ooo

Shortly after dawn the next morning, the stage passengers were assembling in front of the inn. Tully was busy reloading some of the luggage that the ladies had brought inside with them the previous evening while the others milled about. As Evie joined the small group, she instantly became aware that one person was missing.

"Where's Mr. Jones?" she asked, feigning mere casual interest.

The driver paused from lashing a trunk into place and answered absently,

"Oh, he told me he was already late to meet up with his partner in Glenview. Bought a horse and gear from the station master here and headed out about 20 minutes ago. He can make better time on horseback, beat us there by a half a day."

"What? He shouldn't be riding on that leg for at least three days!" Dr. Granger exclaimed in concern.

"See!" Crowed Jenkins in triumph. "That cinches it! I toldja he was Kid Curry! Why else would he leave on the sly like that? And he welched on his doctor bill, too. Typical outlaw. That's money you'll never see, Doc."

"Oh, that reminds me," Tully said, ignoring Jenkins as he pulled a wad of folded up bills from his vest pocket. "Mr. Jones asked me to give you this, Doc. And he said to tell you thank you for everything and good luck to the young lady, here."

The driver tipped his hat and winked at Evie, than hauled himself up onto the driver's seat.

Evie had been disappointed that the handsome young man - whom she was now utterly convinced was really the famous outlaw - would no longer be traveling with them, but she smiled in spite of herself to hear he had thought enough of her to leave her a message.

Jenkins scowled. "Okay, so he paid you. Hope you don't mind getting paid with stolen money, Doc," he said sardonically, then added in a whining tone, "Now don't you wish you'd listened to me? You could be splitting $10,000 with me instead of settling for those few measly bucks he left you."

Dr. Granger stared at Jenkins with pity, then stated with dignity,

"My good sir, I am a doctor. It is my business to save lives, and I didn't go to all the trouble of saving that young man's life only to hand him over to be hanged! And to make a personal profit in the process? Why, that is most distasteful."

He moved to help his niece into the coach.

"Oh, they wouldn't hang him!" chirped Evie as she ignored her uncle's proffered hand and scrambled into the coach, prompting disapproving looks from both her aunt and Widow Daniels at her unladylike behavior. But Evie was oblivious to their reactions as she went on blithely,

"In all the banks and trains they've robbed, Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes never shot anyone! He would just be sent to prison for ten or twenty years."

"My dear," answered the doctor, "for a young man like that, I suspect that several years in prison would be an even worse fate than hanging. Now, let us put this matter behind us and change the subject."

ooo

After leaving the wayside inn, the Kid had ridden all day until he'd reached the small town of Fredricksburg just after sunset. He discreetly checked out the sheriff, and discovering it was a stranger, ducked into the telegraph office and sent a quick message to Mr. Joshua Smith in Glenview, Colorado, informing his partner that he was fine, but that he'd taken a necessary detour and to meet him here instead. He hadn't liked the way that slimy Jenkins kept looking at him and he reckoned there were too many clues pointing to his hidden identity to feel comfortable continuing on to Glenview in his company. He didn't put all that in the wire of course, just enough for Heyes to fill in the missing pieces.

Satisfied, he headed over to the saloon, hoping to get something to eat, listen for any gossip about the posse, and down a whiskey or two to dull the ache in his leg. Then he'd check into the hotel for a good night's sleep and wait for his partner to show up. Maybe they could even loiter in Fredricksburg for a few days while he healed up. He'd spent almost all his cash for the horse, gear, and food for the road, not to mention what he'd left for the doc, but Heyes was hanging on to the bulk of their funds, about $300 if he'd calculated right. Kid was feeling pretty optimistic by now, and he found himself whistling cheerfully as he limped down the boardwalk. However, as he pushed through the batwing saloon doors, the whistle caught in his throat.

Something was wrong here. Although the smoky room was crowded, it was missing the usual raucous laughter, the low rumble of masculine conversation, the tinny notes from an out-of tune piano. It was the quietest saloon he'd ever entered, Curry thought as he looked around warily at the somber-looking patrons, all with glasses raised in mid-toast. Just then a man's deep baritone proclaimed dramatically,

"To Kid Curry!"

Every voice joined in solemn chorus: "To Kid Curry."

Whiskeys and beers were downed and several patrons shook their heads with sorrow, while others murmured quietly to each other. The Kid was known for his poker face, but even so, it took some effort to mask his surprise. He had the eerie sensation that he had just inadvertently walked into his own wake. He was about to discover that, in a way, that's exactly what he had done. He nudged his way through the throng of men to the bar and ordered a whiskey. As the bartender poured the amber fluid into the glass, Kid asked innocently,

"What's going on? Why we all toasting Kid Curry?"

"Ain't you heard?" The bartender seemed eager to be the one to bear the bad news. "Kid Curry's dead! The fastest gun in the west! Dead. Got shot by a posse and he up and died."

The man shook his head slowly, appearing genuinely regretful. "Now I know he was an outlaw, don't get me wrong, but the Kid and Heyes, they wasn't bad men. They never hurt nobody. It's a damn shame." He turned to serve another customer down the bar.

"And Heyes? What about Hannibal Heyes?" Kid asked the retreating figure.

"Aw, old Hannibal Heyes got caught by the same posse what shot his partner. They took him off a train, the story's all over town," the barkeep answered over his shoulder as he drew a beer from the tap.

"Shit." Curry realized too late he'd spoken aloud, but in the saloon's pervasive atmosphere of mourning no one seemed at all suspicious of his response.

A grizzled older man next to Curry spoke up, "Heck, Heyes won't stay caught. Ain't no jail cell can hold Hannibal Heyes."

The young fellow on Curry's other side talked across him to the older man,

"Yeah, but who do you s'pose busted him out all those times? It was his partner - the Kid! Heyes ain't got the Kid no more to come bust him out."

He raised his glass, "To Hannibal Heyes!" he cried out.

Everyone in the bar, Kid included, raised their glasses and solemnly intoned, "To Hannibal Heyes."

Kid tossed the whiskey down in one gulp, savoring the warmth as it coursed down his throat, but he didn't feel any better. No rest for the wicked, he mused. Instead of a steak dinner, a hot bath, and a soft bed, he'd be back in a hard saddle, sore leg and all, just as soon as he found out where his partner had been taken. He maintained his innocent air as he turned to the young man to his left.

"So, uh, what's the story? How'd they finally catch the wily Hannibal Heyes? Heard he was on a train."

The young man pointed across the saloon where a crowd of men were gathered around a well-dressed gentleman in a dapper suit, obviously glorying in his spot in the limelight. He was gesturing expansively as he spoke, holding all within earshot rapt with his words.

"See that guy over there in the suit – he saw it all! He was on the train with Heyes."

"Thanks," Kid murmured as he tossed a few coins on the bar to pay for his whiskey and ambled over toward the man indicated.

Kid leaned against the wall, arms across his chest, taking the weight off his injured leg. He listened for a while to the story. Seems Heyes got arrested on the train just south of Glenview. That didn't quite square up with what he knew of his partner's plan. Heyes had told him he'd be jumping the train as it slowed down through Fenton and would get off in Glenview and meet him there. Apparently, somebody'd tipped off a lawman in Harrison, who telegraphed Marshal Harcourt in Oak Knoll, where he and the posse had followed a false trail. Harcourt and the posse evidently caught up with the train just after Glenview and flagged it down. When they boarded, they'd found Heyes, drunk as a lord, and slapped him in handcuffs. The man said Heyes didn't even resist, almost seemed glad to get nabbed.

Kid was puzzled. Why didn't Heyes get off in Glenview? And who in Harrison could have tipped off the law? And why would Heyes be drunk? Must have been faking it to make the story that his partner was dead more believable. That was typical Hannibal Heyes to think up a story like that. This way, no one would be expecting the Kid to show up to break him out. But he still didn't know where it was he was going to be showing up to do the breaking.

"S'cuse me, sir?" Curry ventured, "Did you happen to hear where they were taking Heyes?"

About ten pairs of eyes turned to stare at the newcomer, and Kid immediately regretted asking such a direct question. But he needed to know sooner rather than later so he could hit the road. He couldn't afford to waste time and risk his partner getting sent on to Wyoming before he got there. Luckily, the men had been "waking" him for quite some time already, and the eyes staring at him weren't exactly focused. The looks thrown his way were more friendly than suspicious.

"Masonville," several voices chimed helpfully.

"Yes, I heard quite clearly that they were taking him to Masonville," corroborated the witness. "I personally saw them escort Heyes from the train. He was in handcuffs, a burly man on each side holding his arms, and about four others surrounding him, all with their guns drawn. It was a sad sight to behold. The end of an era." He shook his head dramatically back and forth.

Kid slipped out of the saloon as they once again all toasted Hannibal Heyes. He swung up into his saddle, grabbing onto a hank of mane with his left hand and the pommel with his right, then jumping up and flinging his right leg over the horse's back to avoid stepping into the stirrup with his injured left leg. As he mounted, he could hear the men behind him toasting Kid Curry again for good measure.

If he hadn't been so worried about his partner cooling his heels in the Masonville jail, he might even have been touched.


	5. Chapter 5

Curry opened his eyes slowly. It took him a couple of minutes to get his bearings, but he eventually realized he was lying flat on the ground, his cheek pressed into the dirt. He sat up, feeling groggy. Where the hell was he and what time was it? And where was his horse? He dragged himself slowly to his feet, rubbing the dirt off his face as he began to circle slowly, scanning his surroundings. There he was – about fifty yards off, contentedly grazing along the side of the trail. Kid reckoned he must've fallen asleep in the saddle, and he wondered how long the horse had kept walking before its rider had inevitably slid off to the ground. And had the horse continued in the right direction? Masonville was a good day's ride from Fredricksburg. Kid cursed himself bitterly. He might have ridden almost that far by now if he hadn't nodded off.

Kid squinted up at the night sky, looking for the familiar stars that would orient him, but as luck would have it, it was mostly overcast. A lone star here and there twinkled at him teasingly through a break in the clouds, but there weren't enough of them visible to make out any constellations. Kid cursed under his breath again. Would he have to wait until dawn to figure out which way to go? And how long was it 'til dawn, anyway? The feeling of disorientation was unsettling. For the first time he began to appreciate why his partner always asked him for the time whenever he woke up. God, his partner! How long would they keep him in Masonville? He couldn't afford to waste another minute! Once Heyes was extradited to Wyoming, he would have a hell of a time springing him. Masonville was a different story. They'd been there before and had checked out the jailhouse –a typical small-town western jail, not a fancy prison. He just had to get there in time. As he limped over to collect his horse, he noticed the sky was beginning to lighten almost imperceptibly. Damn it, he'd spent the whole night sleeping either in the saddle or in a heap in the middle of the road. By the time Kid reached the horse, he could discern which side of the horizon was slightly brighter so could finally judge directions. He hopped up onto the horse and reined him around to head roughly southwest. Trouble was, he wasn't sure how far off track he had gotten during the night.

ooo

Curry had ridden about three hours or so, alternating between a steady canter and a slow trot to spare the horse, when he heard voices up ahead. He rested his right hand on the butt of his Colt and approached cautiously. Through the trees ahead he saw a group of people – two women standing off to the side, a stage coach mired up to its axles in the mud, two men attempting to push it out – wait, there was something familiar about those women - and those men, too. Yup. It was "his" stagecoach.

He watched through the trees silently. In his head he could hear his partner's voice warning him, "That's their problem, Kid. Not your problem."

The old driver Tully and Dr. Granger in his shirtsleeves were valiantly pushing at the rear of the stuck coach. Now he could see the front of the vehicle as well, and he recognized the petite figure of Evangeline Granger, holding the lead horse's bridle, coaxing the team towards her. Widow Daniels and Mrs. Whittaker were standing off to the side looking worried and calling out encouraging words. And where was the traveling man? Kid surveyed the vicinity. Of course. Sitting off to the side on a large log, loudly criticizing the older men's efforts.

Tully Appeared to be about to lose his temper. He abruptly stopped pushing and straightened up, placing both hands on his hips. "If you know so much about how to do this, why don't you get your carcass over here and help?" he demanded of the comfortably seated critic.

"I would love to help, I really would," replied Jenkins smoothly," but this is my only suit and I have an important business meeting when Iarrive in Glenview. I simply cannot afford to soil this suit."

Kid smirked at the audacity of the man. He looked back over at the driver and the doc, neither one young anymore and both starting to show signs of fatigue. Then he saw Evie release her grip on the horse team and march determinedly toward the back of the coach. "Let me help you, Uncle. Please. I'm strong. I bet I'm stronger than HIM," she added scornfully, cutting her eyes in Jenkins' direction.

"Evangeline, no," her Aunt admonished, bustling over to the group. "The men will do it. Don't get your dress all muddy, dear!"

"I'm not sure if the men _can_ do it," sniffed the Widow Daniels drily.

"Need a hand?" Curry rode into view and swung off his horse. Sorry Heyes, he added silently. Guess I just can't stop myself from helping the needy folk…

"You?!" Jenkins stood up, shocked. Then his face changed subtly. His right hand crept toward his vest pocket, then hesitated. A crafty look stole over his face as he sat back down on his log.

"We sure could, young fella. Seems we need three men to shove this thing free and unfortunately we only got two," Tully responded, casting a disgusted glance at Jenkins, who was looking the Kid up and down with a glitter of greed in his eye.

"Mr. Jones," the doctor called, mopping the perspiration from his forehead with a snowy white handkerchief. "How is that leg, young man? I told you that you shouldn't be riding for at least three days."

By now Kid was removing his sheepskin coat and his leather vest. He tucked both garments under the cantle of his saddle where they wouldn't fall off. He had purposely positioned the horse to stand between the back end of the stage and the log where Jenkins was sitting. He did not trust the man for one second and he hadn't missed the aborted reach for something in his pocket. Curry knew damn well what that "something" was. With that in mind, he hesitated slightly before leaning over and untying the leather thong that secured his holster to his thigh, then stood up and unbuckled the gunbelt and hung it on the pommel. He resolved to keep one eye on Jenkins and his gun nice and handy.

Once the Kid put his shoulder to the back of the wagon, it took only two mighty heaves to free the wheel. The three women cheered and the driver thanked the Kid, slapping him on the back as he did. Kid nodded and ambled back to his horse to make a hasty getaway.

Jenkins rose from his perch on the log and addressed their rescuer in an accusing tone, "Thought you were meeting your partner in Glenview, Mr. Jones."

"Yup. On my way there right now," Curry answered, slipping one arm and then the other into his vest.

"But you should have gotten there way before now. That is, if you were _really_ meeting him in Glenview," the man continued, walking around Kid's horse so it was no longer between them. The Kid had to turn sideways to look at him.

"Well now, turned out the Doc was right. I probably shouldnta tried to ride so soon. Leg was bothering me some, so I stopped and rested for a spell," Curry answered mildly, watching the man's eyes carefully.

"But you were so _anxious_ to get to Glenview," continued the traveling man. He was carefully maneuvering his position so that he was standing directly behind Curry now. "And it seems to me like you weren't coming up the same road we were – you were coming from the northwest, across country."

Kid was so annoyed at the whining, insinuating voice and its owner's obvious attempt to position himself in such a way as to shoot him from behind that he had to fight down the urge to take a swing at him and flatten the little coward. Instead, he took a deep breath and slowly turned to face his adversary.

"Look, Mister… Jenkins, was it? I don't want any trouble. I just want to get on my horse and be on my way." Kid started to turn back toward the animal.

Abruptly, Jenkins reached toward his vest pocket. The Kid knew he was going for a gun. He could even picture it, a dainty little Derringer, a coward's gun in his opinion, easily concealed, yet capable of doing plenty of damage at close range.

Kid spun in a half-turn, simultaneously grabbing his Colt from the holster slung over the horse's pommel, and pivoting around to face Jenkins just as the latter thrust his arm out, Derringer pointing directly at the Kid's chest. A single shot rang out accompanied by a woman's scream, both echoing through the small glen in rapid succession. Almost immediately, a second woman screamed – wait, that was Jenkins! He screeched shrilly as he grabbed hold of his right hand with his left, the right hand being the one out of which Kid Curry had just shot his diminutive weapon.

"You shot me! He shot me! See! He _is_ Kid Curry! Ow! My hand! He shot me!"

"Aw, quit your whining. I didn't even hit your hand," Kid muttered in disgust, actually feeling embarrassed for this pathetic excuse of a man, whinging and cringing before him.

The others stood around in stunned amazement as Kid twirled his still-smoking pistol around his finger several times with a flourish. What thehell, they all knew who he was now, he told himself. What harm in showing off a little? Gun still in hand, the Kid grabbed the pommel with his left hand and mounted the horse with his well-practiced right-legged leap. He could put his gun belt and coat back on later, after he was well out of rifle range. That man Jenkins was a back-shooter if he'd ever seen one.

"Be seeing you folks." He nodded, tipping the brim of his hat with his pistol, then with a dazzling smile and a playful wink at Evie, who appeared to be frozen to the ground in awe, he galloped back into the trees from which he'd appeared.

Tully leaned over to pick up the errant Derringer, shaking his head and letting out a long low whistle.

"Well now," he drawled in frank admiration, "I've seen some fine shootin' in my day, but I ain't never seen the likes of that!"

Dr. Granger strode over to Jenkins and was soon examining his hand professionally.

"Is my fingers broke, Doc? Ow! Is it bleeding? Is the bullet still in there? Am I gonna be okay?"

"Your hand is uninjured, sir," responded Granger. "I believe the impact of the bullet upon the pistol caused the stinging sensation you are experiencing right now, but your hand is intact."

"Yeah, but this here gun's another story," the driver said, holding it out to the doctor. "See where the bullet hit it, Doc? What a shot – and he weren't even wearing his gun."

He handed the mangled Derringer back to Jenkins. "Here's your peashooter back, Mister. Don't think it'll work too good no more," he added, deadpan, but then couldn't help snorting with laughter.

Jenkins left off his moaning to exclaim, "Don't you see? Now we have proof! Now we know Jones is really the outlaw Kid Curry! Come on – let's get after him! We can still catch him if we unharness the horses and ride them – you have a rifle, right? We won't even have to get close."

"Well, sir, I ain't no back-shooter and I ain't gonna allow you to use one of these horses or my own gun to shoot no man in the back, neither, outlaw or not. And that's the only way the likes of you would ever be able to bring in Kid Curry," the old man pronounced.

Jenkins wasn't listening, "But he's worth $10,000 – dead or alive! Ten grand!"

The assembled company looked at Jenkins in disgust.

Evie finally spoke up, admonishing Jenkins with a wilting expression on her face and scorn in her voice, "And after he helped us out, too. He didn't have to – he could have ridden right on by! But he stopped to help us and YOU try to shoot him!"

Tully scowled and added drily, "Yeah, and I noticed you waited until after he'd freed up the wheel before you made your move. Real big man, ain't you Mr. Jenkins? Come on, folks. Excitement's over. Let's get along to Glenview."


	6. Chapter 6

It was full dark by the time the Kid rode into Masonville. The streets were quiet and nearly deserted, but he could hear laughter and cheery music drifting from a saloon he and his partner were well acquainted with. He tied his horse up to the hitching rail, walked in the front door, slipped unnoticed through the crowded smoky room, and exited straight out the back door. Once outside, he looked swiftly in both directions, cut down two alleys and up a side street, then ducked down a third alley. He crept along in the shadows until he was just underneath a small barred window set high in a brick wall.

"Psst. Heyes," he whispered hoarsely. "Heyes."

In the dim light, Curry saw a pale hand clutch one of the bars, the cuff of the shirtsleeve visible – the same dark blue shirt his partner was wearing the last time he'd seen him.

"Heyes?" he called softly.

The first hand was joined by a second. The knuckles whitened as a grunting was heard. He must be pulling himself up to the bars with his arms. It took more than a few minutes. Boy, his partner was getting out of shape, Kid mused, planning to tease him about it later – after Heyes was free again and they were both miles away from Masonville… another town to add to the list of places we can never go back to, Kid thought wryly.

Suddenly a round, smiling face pressed against the bars. That wasn't Heyes – that was –

"Kid!" called a cheerful, somewhat tipsy, voice.

Yep, that was Rolly Jackson, Kid surmised. And he was drunk. Oh great, Heyes gets put into the same jail where Rolly is being held for drunk and disorderly. Rolly probably gave Heyes away the minute he saw him, too. Kid didn't doubt for a second that his partner would have been insisting emphatically that he was Joshua Smith, on his way to some mayor's daughter's wedding with a sick wife and baby son at home or some other such nonsense. Rolly would have blown Heyes's cover in a heartbeat. Speak first and think later, that was Rolly's usual custom. Well, make that drink first, then speak, _then_ think… That is, _if_ he ever got that far…

"Shut up!" hissed Curry, darting a quick look up and down the alley, prepared to bolt if anyone appeared.

"Oh, uh sorry, Kid," whispered the prisoner. "I was just so happy to see ya. First Heyes and now you. Haven't seen neither of you in a dog's age and now I get to see ya both. Are you here to bust Heyes out?"

"Keep it down, Rolly," Kid growled softly, "and I just might get you out, too." He wasn't making any promises, though.

"Oh, but I don't want to get out, Kid. I want to—"

"Rolly, just shut up and call Heyes to the window, okay? Or is he in the other cell?"

"That's just it, Kid. Heyes ain't in this cell or t'other one. Heyes ain't here!"

Oh, goddamnit! cursed Kid to himself. I'm too late. They must have already transported him to Wyoming. Damn, that was fast work. Could anything ever just for once go their way? He thought darkly. But he would not give up, he vowed to himself. He would spring his partner or die trying. It was just going to be a hell of a lot harder now.

He asked aloud, "When did they take him? How many were there? What form of transport?" If they took him on a stagecoach, he could probably still catch up. If they had gone by train, it would be trickier…

"Take him? Who? Where?"

"Heyes, you idiot." Kid's temper was wearing thin.

"Oh, Heyes. He ain't here. Never was. Just me." Rolly started chuckling.

"Well, where in the hell is he?"

"Why, he's meeting you! In Glenview. Said you were there getting' fixed up by a doc on account of you got shot! Why ain't you in Glenview, Kid?" Rolly asked.

"Because," Curry said through gritted teeth, trying not to lose what little patience he had left, "I came here to bust my partner out of jail."

"But he ain't here, Kid. I told you, Heyes is in Glenview, looking for you! Don't you think you better get to Glenview?"

Kid took a deep breath and said slowly and evenly, "Rolly, could you please explain to me why everyone is saying Heyes is locked up in the Masonville jail?"

"Sure, Kid. Only my arms is getting tired. Wait. Hang on a second."

Rolly's round face disappeared from the barred window, then the two hands also vanished. Curry took a deep breath and counted to ten slowly as he heard more grunting and the sound of metal scraping on stone. Suddenly Rolly's rotund face popped back into view.

"There," he pronounced happily. "I dragged the cot over so I could st-"

"Rolly!" Kid snapped. "About Heyes?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, Kid. See, I happened to run into Heyes on a train two days ago. He coincidentally jumped into my box car. Well, the box car I happened to be holed up in. It wasn't really MY box car, see, I just —"

"Rolly! Am I gonna haveta shoot you to get you to tell me?"

"Okay, okay! Geez, Kid. So me and Heyes, we got to talking. And he told me about the posse and you gettin' shot and all and I told him all about how I was dead broke and wanted to get back to Wyoming something awful, but I was so drunk I hopped the wrong train. So Heyes, he gets this brilliant idea that I would pretend to be him! We traded shirts and vests and hats and he told me to tell the posse that I was him and that you kicked the bucket and I buried you somewheres - but he said to tell them I would not tell anyone where you was buried until I was safe in Wyoming – on account of I was kinda worried how they might just plug me – cuz after all, you boys is wanted dead or alive. But Heyes said if they thought there was a chance they could dig you up and get twice as much reward money, then I would stay alive until they took me to Wyoming and brung me in front of someone that knows what he looks like and then he would say I ain't him and they'd have to let me go free. Smart, right? I always said that Hannibal Heyes is some kind of genius."

Kid shook his head and muttered, "Yeah, so he tells me..." Then he asked,

"And you're sure he went on ahead to Glenview?"

"Yeah, he jumped off at the next town. Harrison it was. Said he was gonna buy a horse there."

So Heyes had been responsible for the telegraph. And it couldn't have been Harcourt who made the actual arrest – he knew what they both looked like and would not have been fooled by Rolly, even if he was wearing Heyes's shirt and hat. Well, he was glad as he could be that his partner wasn't in jail, but it sure would have been nice not to have to ride all the way to Masonville to find that out. And now he had to turn around and go straight to Glenview. Kid sighed. But Heyes would have checked for a telegram, wouldn't he have? That was one of their rules – if either one wasn't where they had planned to meet up, the other one was supposed to check the telegraph office first. So maybe he should head back to Fredricksburg…But what if Heyes never got the telegram…? Kid decided to be on the safe side, he'd better head back to Fredricksburg via Glenview, even though it was out of the way – _and_ even though it was where that little rat Jenkins was.

"Well, Rolly, hope you have a nice trip to Wyoming. Thanks for helping us out."

"Any time, Kid. I'm glad you ain't really dead."

"Yeah, me too, Rolly. Me too. See ya around."

He took a couple steps, then abruptly turned back. "Hold on a minute, Rolly. I need Heyes's hat. He's awful fond of that hat."

"Well, now, Kid, I traded my own hat for Heyes's hat, fair and square. Iffn I give it to you I won't have any hat at all. That don't hardly seem fair."

Kid fished in his pocket. "Here." He tossed a twenty dollar gold piece – the last of his funds – through the jail bars. As far as he was concerned, Heyes' hat wasn't worth a plug nickel, but he knew his partner felt differently. Rolly's head and hands disappeared again. A half minute later, a battered black hat with silver ornaments on the band appeared between the bars and dropped down at Kid's feet. He picked it up and slipped back into the shadows.


	7. Chapter 7: What Happened to Hannibal Hey

Chapter 7 - What Happened to Hannibal Heyes

"Thatta boy, Kid," whispered Hannibal Heyes to himself as his partner disappeared into the stagecoach on the third attempt. "I knew you had it in you."

He lowered his field glasses and settled down to make himself comfortable in the tall grass next to the train tracks. It was going to be several hours before the train came by, so he might as well get some sleep. He tried not to worry about his partner overly much. He told himself that all those females on the stage, especially the plump, matronly lady, would no doubt fuss over the Kid if he took a turn for the worse during the trip to Glenview. He just hoped that neither the passengers nor the driver had heard any word of the posse that had been chasing the former outlaws – especially that they had managed to wound one of them. Or if they had, that they would not make the connection. Without his dark-haired partner by his side, the Kid was less likely to be recognized. Even so, Heyes couldn't help feeling anxious sending him off alone and wounded. Bad things seemed to happen whenever they split up.

ooo

Heyes checked his pocket watch even though he already knew what time it was: 3:50 pm. The train would be coming around the bend in ten minutes. It would slow down on the uphill stretch, then stop for five minutes to take on water. He had had a refreshing nap and was now stretching the kinks out of his back and neck. At least he wouldn't have to chase this train and hop into it on the run. He reckoned that he'd be riding the better part of the day, so he hoped he could find a box car with some nice soft hay. If only he had a book in his saddlebags to pass the time reading.

Just as Hannibal Heyes was sliding the door of the box car shut, he heard a muffled noise. Cautiously, he drew his gun, listening warily and scanning the piles of hay through the dusty shaft of sunlight sifting through the slats high up on the box car walls. Sounded like breathing, which gradually gave way to …. singing? Yep, someone was definitely singing, albeit slightly off-key and with somewhat slurred words. Well, when ya hopped a train, you could never really count on getting a private car, he mused to himself. Heyes slipped his gun back into its holster and angled his way around the hay bales to get a closer look at his traveling companion. He wanted to make sure he was as harmless as he sounded.

ooo

As Heyes approached the singing man, he recognized the old tune: "Sweet Betsy From Pike." It'd been a long time since he'd heard that one. There was a fella in the Devil's Hole Gang for a while, Rolly Olsen, who used to sing that song a lot, Heyes recalled. He stood in the shadows and peered through a crack between hay bales. The singer had just gotten to the line he had always found so amusing about the dog looking "wonderfully sad." For some reason, that description just tickled him. But Heyes's mind quickly veered from the lyrics to the familiar-looking face of the man singing it. Could that be….? What were the odds that he would hop a box car that was already occupied by someone he actually knew?

"Hiya, Rolly," Heyes grinned as he stepped from behind the hay bales.

Rolly stopped singing in mid "too-ra-li-oo-ra-li" and stared at him in surprise. Then a huge smile spread across his round face.

"HEYES!" he hollered jubilantly, "Hannibal Heyes! Am I ever glad to see you!"

"A little louder, Rolly. I don't think the passengers two cars down quite heard you," Heyes replied sarcastically as he settled himself on a pile of hay next to Olsen.

The next thing he knew, Rolly had enveloped him in a tight bear hug, his face uncomfortably close to his own, the stench of cheap whiskey polluting his breath.

"Where's the Kid?" Rolly queried, peering behind Heyes as if expecting Curry to materialize in his box car next.

"He's taking an alternative form of transportation," Heyes responded cagily, as he disengaged himself from the drunken man's embrace. "How ya been, Rolly?"

"Oh, I am just jim-dandy!" answered the drunken man. "I'm gonna git married! To my sweetie!"

"Well, congratulations, Rolly," said Heyes, slapping Rolly's back. "When's the wedding?"

"Soon's I get to Cheyenne. She done sent me a telegram. Her pa's gonna meet my train with a preacher," he answered happily. "And a shotgun," he added proudly.

Heyes shook his head, "Well, that's going to be somewhat difficult, Rolly, seeing as this train isn't going to Wyoming."

"Oh, no, I'm sure I hopped the Wyoming bound train back in Denver. Say, whatcha goin' to Wyoming for, Heyes?" Rolly asked, concern on his face. "Doncha know you and the Kid are wanted in Wyoming?"

"Yes, I have heard something to that effect," Heyes answered drily, stretching out his legs and shifting a bit in an effort to get a little less uncomfortable.

The irony was lost on Rolly, whose face became even more worried. "You better hop right off this here train, Heyes!" he urged, "afore we get to Wyoming."

"I appreciate your concern, Rolly, but this train is not going to Wyoming. It's on its way to Grand Junction, by way of Glenview, which is where I'm meeting the Kid."

"What? This train ain't goin' to Wyoming!?" Rolly slapped his hand against his florid forehead and shook his head slowly back and forth. "Ya mean I hopped the wrong train?"

"Fraid so, Rolly," Heyes answered sympathetically.

"I just got to get to Wyoming! I ain't got any money and I just got to get there afore my sweetie goes and marries Lester Eakus 'stead of me!"

Rolly's face crumpled a bit and a large tear trickled from the corner of his eye and lodged itself in the corner of his somewhat shaggy dark mustache.

'Wyoming, huh?" Heyes stared at Rolly thoughtfully. "Rolly, my friend," he said. "We just might be able to help each other out."

A slow grin spread across his face and a sparkle gleamed in his brown eyes.

"Remember when you were in the gang and we sometimes dressed you up as me and used you for a decoy?"

"Sure, I remember that, Heyes! I remember the time I almost got my fool head shot off being your decoy! But that was before I grew this here soup strainer."

Rolly stroked the large and shaggy facial hair fondly. "Now we don't look nothing alike," he stated.

Heyes looked him up and down. They were about the same height and build, except Rolly's shoulders were somewhat narrower, his arms lacking Heyes's muscle tone, and the beginnings of a flaccid little paunch that he didn't have back in his Devil's Hole Gang days protruded above his belt buckle. But the coloring was the same – dark brown eyes, feathery dark brown hair. Rolly even sported a pair of dimples in his cheeks, although his features were rounder and softer than Heyes's, his nose more bulbous, with large, prominent nostrils. But from a distance, he could still be mistaken for his former outlaw gang leader. That is, if he could be persuaded to part with that mustache…

"Rolly, how'd you like a free ticket to Wyoming?" Heyes grinned, rummaging through his saddlebags for his razor.


	8. Chapter 8

Heyes was giving last-minute instructions to Rolly, freshly clean-shaven and now wearing Heyes's dark blue shirt and brown corduroy vest. Heyes was wearing Rolly's shirt and vest, both hanging open and unbuttoned as he tended to Rolly's disguise.

"Now Rolly, when the lawmen ask you where the Kid is, you got to tell them that the Kid died," he explained as he tucked Rolly's pants legs into his boots, the way he himself always wore them. The pants were butternut, same as his, but the boots were a slightly different color leather. Heyes didn't think anyone would notice that minor detail and he was damned if he was going to give up his favorite boots for Rolly's old, worn ones.

"The Kid died!?" Rolly looked stricken. "Oh, Heyes, why didn't you tell me?" He started to blubber noisily. "What happened to him?"

"Hush, Rolly! The Kid didn't really die!" Heyes admonished, straightening up again. He removed his own bandanna and continued speaking as he tied it around Rolly's neck, "The posse shot him, but only in the leg! He's getting fixed up by the doc in Glenview – that's why I'm meeting him there!"

"Oh thank goodness. But why am I telling them he's dead?"

"So's they won't keep looking for him," Heyes explained patiently, speaking slowly and clearly as if he were addressing a small child. "You tell them that he died from his gunshot wound and you buried him somewhere on the trail."

"But what if they ask where?"

"You say that you refuse to tell them until you're safe and sound back in Wyoming."

"And then where should I tell them he's buried?"

"Anywhere! Nowhere! It doesn't matter, Rolly! By then someone will come to identify you and figure out that you're not me. But me and the Kid'll be long gone and YOU will be in Wyoming."

"With my sweetie."

"With your sweetie," Heyes agreed, wondering what kind of girl would want to be Rolly's sweetheart. Well, he mused to himself, guess Grampa Curry was right when he used to say there was a lid for every pot…

"Heyes!" Rolly suddenly burst out, "what if they kill me? You _are_ wanted dead or alive, after all."

"They aren't going to kill you, Rolly, because they'll want to keep you alive long enough to find out where you buried the Kid," Heyes assured him. "Then they get double the reward money."

Heyes was looking Rolly up and down critically. Something still did not look right.

"Do you think you can suck in your gut, Rolly?" he asked. Rolly complied for a few seconds, but then released his breath almost immediately when another thought occurred to him.

"I better act sad," he said. "If the Kid were dead, you'd be real, real sad, Heyes. If I wanna fool them, I better act real sad."

"You do that, Rolly," Heyes answered, continuing to scrutinize his doppleganger. Then he realized what the problem was: the hat. Rolly's hat was all wrong. It was definitely not a cowboy hat – it looked like a cross between a derby and - he wasn't sure what else. It was a faded brown in color with some questionable-looking stains on it. The brim was narrow and curled-up around the edges, and the crown was disproportionately and comically tall. It was a godawful hat.

Heyes hated the thought of parting with his own beloved hat, but he knew it had to be done for his ruse to work. With Hannibal Heyes safely in jail and Kid Curry conveniently dead, the pressure would be off the boys long enough for Kid to heal up and the two of them to get out of Colorado. Heyes reluctantly removed his battered but much loved hat. He held it for a moment in both hands and shook his head resignedly. Then he swept Rolly's hat off his head, and replaced it with his own. He shoved Rolly's hat into his saddlebag, not caring if it got crumpled. There, he pronounced, satisfied. That should fool anybody unless they got up close.

Just then the train whistle blew.

"We must be approaching Harrison," Heyes said. "Rolly, you stay in this boxcar. I'm going to tie your bandanna to the outside so's they know which car you're in. Not sure how long it'll take for someone to catch up to the train, but they should before you get to White Rock."

"Thanks, Heyes. I owe ya one," slurred Rolly lugubriously, trying to hug him again.

Heyes eluded the embrace, slid open the door, and grinned as he leaned out of the boxcar, tying Rolly's bright red bandanna to one of the iron rungs on its exterior. Then he popped back in and gathered up his belongings.

"Have fun in Wyoming, Rolly!" he said. "Tell your sweetie I said howdy!"

As the train slowed almost to a stop, Heyes shouldered his saddlebags and bedroll, leapt lightly to the ground, and disappeared into the bushes, loose shirttails flapping behind him as he ran.


	9. Chapter 9

"Sheriff? Name's Deke Slattery and I got somethin' to report," announced the man who had just stepped into Sheriff Wilson Snead's office in Harrison, Colorado. Snead looked his visitor up and down. He sounded like some kind of hick, and he was wearing a shirt almost as flowery as his wife Bessie's best Sunday go-to-meetin' dress, but Sheriff Snead stopped what he was doing and ushered the man in.

"What is it, Mr. Slattery?" he asked as they sat down on either side of a cluttered desk.

"Well, sir," began the man who'd introduced himself as Slattery, "I was ridin' with the posse that was after Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry for a piece. With Marshall Harcourt? Out of Boggsville? Ya heard about that?"

"Heck, everybody's been talkin' 'bout that for the last two days. We heard they was headin' up to Oak Knoll. They think them two are goin' ta Denver," answered Snead.

"Well, I peeled off from the posse cuz my horse pulled up lame, but last I heard, that's where they was. Didja hear Harcourt shot one of them outlaws?"

"Is it true?" asked the sheriff. "Rumor is he shot Curry."

"Oh, it was Curry alright," Slattery answered confidently. "I know that for a fact, cuz I just seen Hannibal Heyes!"

"What? Where?!" the sheriff exclaimed.

Heyes as Slattery was deliberately stalling. "Well, after the horse I was ridin' pulled up lame outside of Oak Knoll, I decided to take the train as far back as Fenton, to get my own horse. Ya see, Harcourt left all our horses in Fenton when he got fresh ones from the stage coach livery there. Oh, the station agent weren't too happy 'bout that, nosirree." He chuckled a little bit.

"Yeah, I expect so. But what about Hannibal Heyes, man?"

"But I didn't get off in Fenton, cuz they don't have no sheriff. I came here to Harrison just so's I could tell you what I seen."

"And what did you see?" the sheriff asked patiently, beginning to suspect this fellow Slattery didn't have any actual information after all.

"Oh, well, ya see, when I was on the train, I decided to step out between cars and get some air, see? It was kinda stuffy in there. And I'm standing there between cars the when I hear this noise comin' from one of the box cars. So's I decide to take a peek. And guess who I done saw in there? Hannibal Heyes!"

"Are you sure? Can you describe him?" The sheriff picked up the telegram that Harcourt had sent to all the towns in the vicinity, describing Heyes and Curry and what they had been wearing when last seen. He followed along as the man called Slattery gave a detailed description. They were a perfect match.

"That's Heyes, alright," the sheriff leapt to his feet. "The train, you say?''

The Sheriff frantically grabbed a rifle and a box of shells from the cabinet. "Why didn't you spit it out faster, son? That train don't stop for but ten minutes."

He jammed some shells into the rifle and strode for the door. As he pulled it open, the unmistakable sound of a train's whistle fading into the distance sounded.

"Dagnabbit! We missed it!"

"Aw, heck, Sheriff. I sure am sorry," offered Heyes, his voice sounding genuinely contrite. "I just wanted to be sure you knew all the important details and all."

"Now what the heck am I s'posed to do?"

"Well, sir," ventured the supposed Slattery. "What if you telegraph the sheriff in the next town down the line? See, I tied a bright red bandanna to the box car Heyes is in, so's the law can find him easy. Wasn't that quick thinking, Sheriff?"

Snead doubted this man was capable of a quick thought – he certainly wasn't capable of imparting crucial information in any kind of hurry.

"There ain't no sheriff in the next town down the line!" harrumphed Snead. "Next town down the line is Marion Falls and they's too small for a sheriff."

"Well, how about the next one after that?"

"Huh. I think I better just telegraph Marshall Harcourt. He should still be up in Oak Knoll. He'll know what to do," said the sheriff thoughtfully.

"Uh…don't you think it would be better to contact somebody closer?" suggested Heyes. If Harcourt found Rolly first, the plan was a bust, Heyes thought.

In the end, the sheriff telegraphed Marshall Harcourt up in Oak Knoll, the mayor of Marion Falls, and the sheriff in Glenview, the next town after Marion Falls, as well as the sheriff in the next town after that, White Rock. Just for good measure, he also telegraphed Masonville, and the railroad didn't even go through there. He thanked "Slattery," and bid him good night. As Heyes moseyed down the street, he figured somebody in Marion Falls or Glenview or even White Rock would get to Rolly well before Harcourt could. He was feeling optimistic as he picked up his bags and crossed the street, heading for the Harrison Arms Hotel to get a room for the night.


	10. Chapter 10

Hannibal Heyes, still playing the role of Deke Slattery, pushed through the bat wing doors of the only saloon to be found in Harrison. As he walked up to the bar, he thought he heard a snicker.

"Nice shirt," a voice cracked, followed by more sniggers.

Heyes ignored the remark, ordered a beer, and turned around to lean his back against the bar, surveying the smoky room. There were a couple poker games going, but both were filled. When his beer arrived, he paid for it and took a thoughtful sip as he observed the poker players, gradually learning their habits and their "tells."

When a place at the far table opened up, Heyes strolled over and inquired whether he could join them.

I ain't playing poker with no fella what wears a shirt like that, pronounced a man with a narrow, weathered face and watery pale blue eyes. "Whatcha do boy, rob the church charity basket?" he sneered derisively.

"Or maybe you stole your grandmaw's old nightgown!" chimed in the player to his left, a short, stocky man with glossy black curls and forearms like a blacksmith's.

Heyes smiled disarmingly as he sat down in the empty chair.

"My name's Slattery. Deke Slattery," he said. "And I'm here to play poker, not discuss fashion."

Although he kept the name he'd used with the sheriff, he spoke with his own natural inflections in a tone that showed he wasn't bothered in the least about the rude criticism of his sartorial style.

The other players laughed heartily and seemed to forget about the unfortunate shirt. Soon the cards were being dealt out and serious play had resumed.

After some time, it appeared the man in the ugly shirt was having a very lucky night. The pile of cash and coins in front of him rose steadily as he won pot after pot. Heyes had been caught up in the game, but now judiciously decided he'd better start losing a little or maybe just quit while he was ahead and excuse himself to the hotel room he'd booked earlier.

But one of the players, the thin-faced one who had first criticized his apparel, apparently did not believe that luck was behind the growing fortune being amassed by Slattery.

"I can't believe a man who'd be unlucky enough to own a shirt like that would be so lucky at poker," he said insinuatingly.

One of the other men, one who'd just failed to fill out a straight he was trying for, nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, nobody's that lucky," he said, with an accusative tone.

"Oh, it isn't luck," answered Heyes glibly as he shuffled the cards. "I'd say it's skill." He smiled broadly as he dealt out the hands.

The first man did not like that answer one bit. He fairly spat out the words as he responded, "So you're sayin' yer a better poker player than we are?"

"I'm just saying I don't have to be lucky to win."

"Well, I say you have to be cheatin' to win," responded his opponent.

"Now, now gentlemen," Heyes said soothingly, "let's don't spoil our friendly little game here. You don't really mean to accuse me of cheating, do you?"

"Yer sayin' yer not cheatin'?" growled another player. "How ya gonna prove it?"

Heyes looked at the unfriendly faces around the table, checking for an ally among them, but it was painfully apparent that they all shared the same suspicions. Hannibal Heyes was an odds player, and the odds were definitely not in his favor. Two of the men, including Thin Face, had pushed their chairs back from the table. Big Arms had pulled a small but sharp-looking knife from his pocket with which he was menacingly cleaning his fingernails. The rest of the saloon patrons had grown very quiet, watching warily to see what the stranger would do. Heyes reckoned it was time to fold, but he clung to the small hope he might yet get away with at least some of his winnings.

"How about this, fellas?" he offered in a friendly tone. "How about I take the money I started out with and leave the rest here? Now I ain't admitting I was cheating, but I'm a stranger in this town and I certainly don't want to cause any hard feelings." He began to scoop up some bills, counting them out loud.

"You'll leave_ all_ the money here, mister. Either you do that, or you can draw," the meanest looking man at the table stated.

Heyes' challenger pushed back his chair with one boot as he stood, its wooden legs making a discordant scraping sound along the scarred saloon floor. He rose to his full height, a good four inches taller than Heyes, and rested his right hand menacingly on the handle of his six shooter. He stared down at Heyes through small, close-set, raptorial eyes shadowed by thick brows that nearly met in the middle above the bridge of his hawk-like nose. Heyes noticed his adversary's holster was not only tied down to his thigh, its front was filed down and extremely well-worn. This man was a gunslinger. A deadly one.

"Well, since you put it that way…" Heyes grinned, returning the bills to the pile in the center of the table. He found himself wishing not for the first time that the Kid had been with him. Although he didn't always agree with the Kid's timing, he enjoyed that feeling of smug satisfaction when his fast-drawing partner put a bully like this in his place.

Heyes knew it was time to call it a night, but his pride wouldn't let him admit the other players had got the better of him. He nodded to the table as he rose, then strolled casually to the bar where he slapped down the dollar coin he'd managed to palm while returning the rest of the money. "Beer," was all he said. When it arrived, he drank it down in three slow gulps. Then he slammed the empty glass on the bar, swiped up his change, and turned toward the doorway. He noted with slight concern that the table where he had been playing was now empty. He scanned the room with a practiced eye as he proceeded cautiously to the exit.

"Pssst, handsome." The platinum blonde saloon girl in the low-cut scarlet dress was beckoning to him from the back corner of the saloon.

"You don't want to go out there," she began. "Come on back this way."

"Sorry, sweetheart," answered Heyes, approaching the girl politely. "Your offer's mighty tempting, but I'm all cashed out."

"Oh, I know, honey. I saw it all. That's why you don't want to go out the front door. They're waiting for you. I guess taking all your money wasn't enough. Looks like they want to rough you up some to even the score. Come with me and I'll show you the back way out."

She grabbed his hand and led him toward a narrow hallway, barely visible in the gloom of the saloon, then signaled for him to go ahead of her.

"Well, I'm much obliged, miss," Heyes grinned, tipping his hat as he squeezed past her.

"My pleasure, believe me," she murmured as his body brushed against hers.

"The pleasure's all mine, sweetheart," he answered, looking at her in a way that had melted the heart of more than one young lady, and caused a fair number of older ones to wish they could turn back the clock.

"My, my. I'd do you for free if it wouldn't get me fired." She shook her head in disappointment, following closely behind him.

"Well, thank you, miss," he smiled at her, his handsome face even more appealing as the dimples made their appearance.

"As soon as you pushed through the doors tonight, the other gals and me all agreed you'd look a sight better OUT of that shirt than in it."

By now they had reached the back door into the alleyway.

Heyes leaned over and pecked the girl on her rouged cheek. "Maybe some other time. Thanks again."

"You bet, honey." She stood in the doorway and watched him stride down the alleyway, admiring the view. Then she reluctantly turned and went inside and back to work.


	11. Chapter 11

Hannibal Heyes was glad he'd decided to pay for the hotel room in advance. And he was even gladder he'd stuffed $100 into his boot to buy a horse and tack when the livery stable opened in the morning. Other than that, he had just six bits to his name. He asked for his key from the sleepy clerk, then headed up the stairs. Once in the room, he was just about to flop down on the bed when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror over the bureau. Out of idle curiosity, he struck a match and lit the lamp, then carried it closer to the mirror.

Heyes couldn't help laughing out loud. No wonder everyone was poking fun at his shirt! It was ugly enough when Rolly was wearing it, but somehow it looked ten times worse on him. My god! Where did Rolly get such a hideous shirt? What was it made from anyway, old curtains? And whatever possessed him to match it with this vest? Heyes stood in front of the mirror, appalled at his appearance. On impulse, he scooped up Rolly's hat from the chair where it was sitting on top of his saddle bags and bedroll and plopped it onto his head. Oh, man, he thought, Kid would never let me live it down if he saw me in this get-up. He stripped off the offending shirt and vest, balled them up, and tossed them in a corner, where he vowed they'd remain. Unfortunately, he couldn't afford to be so cavalier with the equally unsightly hat. He knew he'd regret throwing it away later when he was riding through the open country en route to Glenview. He didn't want to fry his brains and get his face all sunburned, so he placed the hat back on the chair with his other belongings. Then he unbuckled his gunbelt and hung it on the bedstead, pulled off his boots and trousers and climbed into the bed in his long johns. As was his custom, he began by reviewing the day's events in his mind. Then he would rehash tomorrow's plans, but somehow he never made it past watching the Kid climb into the stage early that morning before sleep enveloped him in its welcome embrace.

ooo

Just after dawn the next morning, freshly washed and shaved, and wearing a crisp white shirt and tan leather vest, Hannibal Heyes proceeded to the livery stable. As he passed the telegraph office, he briefly considered wiring Glenview to inform the Kid of his delay, but just as quickly dismissed the notion as a waste of time – and money. The Kid would be in no shape to check for telegraphs. As if he could go anywhere, anyway. He'd still be laid up at the doctor's. When Heyes got there, he'd take him over to the hotel to finish recuperating. Maybe while the Kid healed up, he could find a good poker game to start rebuilding their stake. Let's see, after the doctor bill, the Kid should still have around $100 or so, he calculated. That should be enough to get him in a game…

After a brief haggle with the livery man, Heyes, now with only the six bits to his name, was soon tacking up a nice-looking, but definitely overpriced, bay gelding. He was just strapping his own gear onto his new horse when he heard a deep voice behind him.

"Slattery," came the voice of the town sheriff. "Just wanted to thank you again for that information about Hannibal Heyes. You'll be pleased to know that I was able to reach the law in Masonville. They intercepted the train just after it went through Glenview and arrested Heyes. They're holding him 'til Marshall Harcourt can get there to identify him."

Heyes grinned happily, pleased for reasons other than the sheriff assumed. Masonville was even farther for Harcourt to travel than any of the other towns the sheriff had contacted. "Jest doin' my civic duty, Sheriff," he replied, assuming the same hayseed accent he'd employed when visiting the sheriff the night before. Evidently Snead had forgotten that he'd told him his horse was up in Fenton, Heyes noted with relief.

"Harcourt might be willing to share a little of the reward money for that tip, if you happen to be headed down Masonville way," added the sheriff helpfully.

"Jest might try that," answered Heyes, nodding and grinning at the sheriff.

When Hell freezes over, he added silently in his mind.

ooo

Heyes was riding along serenely under a wide blue sky with just a few white puffs of clouds scudding across it on a light breeze. It was pleasantly warm in the morning sun, but not hot. He passed through intermittent patches of shade cast by a scattering of trees along the trail. It turned out the gelding he'd bought was an affable, cooperative horse who kept a nice steady gait with no signs of fatigue so far. He was making excellent time and he felt on top of the world for the first time in days. His plan was playing out neatly. The Kid would be in Glenview by now, getting doctored up. Everyone thought he was dead, so no one would have suspected him when he showed up there with a gunshot wound. Harcourt and his posse was off their tail, on the way to Masonville to pick up Rolly. No one would be looking for them for at least several days. And at this rate, he should be in Glenview by lunchtime. Heyes began to whistle the tune of "Sweet Betsy from Pike," that had stuck in his head since his encounter with Rolly. He chuckled to himself when he thought of Rolly's ugly shirt and hat and then dragged the latter out of his saddlebag and stuck it on his head at a rakish angle. He sighed happily. It may be butt-ugly, he thought to himself, but it'll keep me cool and at least no one can see me out here.

His last thought was instantly proven false when sudden rifle shots rang out and his horse began to dance as bullets hit the dirt near its hooves. Heyes instinctively went for his gun, but thought better of it when he felt a bullet whiz just over his head. The fusillade was coming from all sides. Must be at least three men, he calculated, slowly raising his hands over his head.

"That's right, young fella!" called a voice from a pile of rocks to his right. "Don't do anything rash, now. Just you toss that hog's leg on the ground over here nice and easy."

Heyes complied, cursing his luck. His first thought was a posse, but as the three men came out from their hiding places, he saw they were just common, ordinary highwaymen, and he was being bushwhacked.

"Look, gentlemen," Heyes began genially, "I don't have anything worth stealing."

"Huh. We'll be the ones decidin' what's worth stealing," answered the first thief, bending down and scooping up Heyes's Schofield. "This is a real nice gun. Thankee, Mister." He laughed, a cackling sound that showed tobacco-stained teeth. "Now git off yer horse. We'll be takin' that, too."

Heyes considered making a bolt for it, but all three men had rifles trained directly on him. He slowly and resignedly dismounted and stood angrily as one of the men, short and skinny, at least a generation younger than the other two, started rifling through his pockets.

"Look, Paw!" he called triumphantly, holding up Heyes's pocket watch by the chain. "Lookee here!"

"That was my grandfather's watch –" Heyes started to protest.

"Well, it's ours, now!" laughed the man addressed as Paw as his son tossed the watch to him. He caught it handily and looked it over greedily before stuffing it into his pocket.

By the time they were done with him, the three bushwhackers had taken everything of value: his horse and gear, saddlebags with all contents, his pocket watch, and even the last six bits he had to his name. Then the third man spoke for the first time.

"What the hell kind of hat is that, boy?" he asked. "Take his hat, too, Ozzy. I ain't never seen such a headpiece." Ozzy took it off Heyes's head and crammed it onto his own head and cut a jaunty little caper. All three robbers guffawed uproariously.

Heyes stood looking at them in contempt as they gathered up his belongings. "At least leave me a canteen," he demanded. "You don't seem like killers."

"Paw" obliged, tossing Heyes a full canteen, but he also tossed Ozzy some rawhide strips and the boy commenced to tie their victim's hands behind his back. Then he pushed Heyes to a seated position and tied his ankles together. Ozzy said apologetically, "Jest so's ya don't foller us. You can have a drink when you get loose. And then you can take a walk! It's a real nice day for a stroll!"

The men laughed and jeered as they left him sitting forlornly in the middle of the trail, canteen at his bound feet and hands tied behind his back. He heard them in the clump of trees next to the trail mounting their horses, still laughing. Then they galloped past him, disappearing over the horizon in a cloud of dust, his own newly bought horse pulled along behind them by the reins. The dust from their passing settled slowly onto his bound frame, adding insult to injury as well as triggering a brief coughing spell.

At least that kid ain't very good with knots, thought Heyes darkly to himself, as he loosened the rawhide ligatures with practiced wrist-twisting. He managed to get them undone in less than fifteen minutes. He took a swig from the canteen and slung it around his neck and one shoulder. Then he tied his bandana around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes and started to walk.

The three crooks hadn't bothered to hide their trail. He guessed they never suspected he would get loose so quickly or that he'd try to follow them, no doubt confident in their superior numbers. They have no idea who they're dealing with, thought Heyes grimly.

ooo

After three hours of determined plodding, Heyes caught up with the thieves. They had left the main trail and entered a narrow path through a patch of woods. As he approached he could hear their voices. They were building a small fire, getting ready to cook up some lunch. Heyes crept closer, then dropped down on his belly and crawled to within a few yards of where they'd tied up the horses. Lucky for him, they had been careless. Two of the horses still had rifles in the scabbards buckled to their saddles. Heyes's own horse appeared to recognize him and whickered a greeting. Heyes froze in place, but the men took no notice of the noise.

"I'm here, buddy," he whispered, standing up and stroking the gelding along its neck. "Just give me a couple minutes."

He checked his saddlebags to make sure the contents were intact. Satisfied, he tied the canteen to the pommel. Then he slipped one of the rifles from its scabbard and checked to make sure it was loaded. He walked soundlessly to the men's camp and seeing that they were completely oblivious to their surroundings as they prepared some grub, he stepped confidently into the clearing and pulled the lever on the rifle.

At the distinctive sound of the bolt sliding into place, three pairs of eyes looked up in surprise.

"Howdy," Heyes called out amiably. "Remember me?"

He trained the rifle on the youngest of the men.

"D-d-d-don't shoot, Mister," begged Ozzy. "We ain't armed."

This was mostly true. The third rifle could be seen leaning against a log just out of reach and Heyes' Schofield was protruding from the back of "Paw's" pants. He might possibly have forgotten it was there.

"Take whatever ya want," the leader said. "Jest don't hurt my boy."

"I only want what's mine," replied Heyes. He stepped up to the thief and holding the rifle in his right hand, pulled his own sixgun from the back of the older man's pants with his left hand and cocked that weapon as well.

"Now if you would just please hand over my watch and my money, I'll be on my way," he commanded.

He tucked the rifle under his arm and extended his right hand, continuing to aim the pistol steadily with his left. Ozzy fished through his pockets and pulled out a handful of change that he poured into Heyes's outstretched palm. His pa pulled out the precious pocket watch and held it out toward him. The third man just stood dumbly, hands stretched over his head, not saying anything, seemingly frozen in place. Heyes glanced at the pile of coins in his hand and sifted through them, letting all of them fall to the ground except for three 25 cent pieces.

"I just want what's mine," he explained, grinning. "I ain't no thief."

Anymore, he added silently to himself. He shoved the three quarter dollars into his vest pocket, then took the proffered watch and placed that in a different pocket. He had spotted Rolly's hat sitting on a bundle near the fire. He briefly considered doing a trade – a hat for a hat wasn't actually stealing. But then he looked around at the available hats. Ozzy didn't have one. The two older men's hats were at least the proper cowboy style, but after noting the unwashed hair of the heads beneath them, Heyes thought better of that idea and instead picked up Rolly's unsightly derby and pushed it onto his head. Then he picked up the other rifle.

"Tell you what, gentleman," he said, smiling wider so the dimples appeared in his cheeks, "I'm going to treat you a mite better than you did me. I'm going to take your guns and your horses with me and leave them tied up about a mile down the main trail. You can finish your nice little picnic lunch here and then take yourselves on a leisurely walk to go fetch them." Then the smile slid from his face and his voice took on a menacing undertone. "And don't try to follow me, because if we meet up again, I guarantee you I won't be as charitable."

He transferred the rifles to his left hand and the Schofield to his right and backed up slowly to where the horses were tied. He pushed the two rifles into their scabbards, then untied the horses with one hand, all the while keeping his pistol leveled on the trio. They didn't look like they were going to try anything, but he couldn't afford to take any chances.

Then he holstered the pistol, mounted his own horse, and galloped away, leading the other three by the reins.


	12. Chapter 12

The rest of the ride was smooth and incident-free, although Heyes could not quite recapture the carefree feeling he had experienced before his run-in with the bushwhackers. He felt somewhat tense and extra wary until he rode into Glenview in mid-afternoon. He had no trouble finding the doctor's office and was soon standing on the porch rapping on the front door, feeling relieved to be so close to reuniting with his partner, but more than a little anxious not knowing how the Kid was doing. Heyes tucked both thumbs in his gunbelt and waited for an answer. And waited some more. He rapped a little more loudly, getting impatient and feeling somewhat more anxious. Maybe the doc was in surgery, he thought. Maybe the doc got called away on an emergency and Kid was just on the other side of this door, sleeping peacefully. On impulse, Heyes rattled the doorknob. Locked. But very pickable. However, a passerby was bound to notice if he commenced to pick this lock in broad daylight. Maybe there was a back door… Just that moment, a woman's head poked out of the house next door.

"Are you looking for Dr. Granger?" inquired the young housewife.

Heyes nodded at her politely, "Why yes, ma'am. I am."

"He's not here. He went to Denver three days ago. If you're feeling poorly, the barber in town does some doctoring," she added helpfully.

Heyes felt like the proverbial rug had just been pulled from underneath his feet.

"Three days ago..?" he repeated numbly.

"Yes. He should be back today, though. On the early evening stage."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Heyes, trying to stem the panicky sensation rising in his chest as the helpful neighbor pulled her door shut.

Oh, Kid! What have I done? Sent you here to a doctor that ain't here! Heyes forced himself to calm down. The barber, the woman said. I'll start with the barber.

ooo

"Nope. Nobody's come to me with a sore leg in the last day," answered the barber, pausing from sweeping up the small piles of hair snippings strewn about the floor. Had a toothache yesterday and a belly-ache this morning. But that's it."

"Thank you, sir," stammered Heyes. "Anyplace else around this town where folks go for doctoring?"

"Weell," pondered the man, "there's the old herb woman out on the eastern town limits, but she mainly deals with, ahem, you know, female ailments."

"Thanks," Heyes said turning to leave.

"You sure you don't want a haircut a fore you leave, son? It's lookin' a mite shaggy 'round the edges there," the barber suggested.

"No, no thank you. I've got to be going." If Kid had the choice between this idiot barber and an herb woman, even one who specialized in women, maybe he'd go there instead, thought Heyes.

But he had similar luck at the herb woman's. She hadn't seen anyone matching his partner's description with an injured leg, but she offered to sell Heyes some herbs guaranteed to calm the nerves.

"I can tell you're in an agitated state," she claimed.

"Of course I'm agitated!" he answered impatiently. "I'm trying to find my partner!"

After than Heyes checked the hotel, the town's two saloons, and even the café, thinking Kid might have at least stopped in to get something to eat. Still no luck.

Heyes went to the stage coach office next. Maybe they'd seen Kid get off the stage. Or perhaps he could find out the name of someone else riding on the same stage and ask him if he'd seen the Kid. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was scared. What if something had happened to his partner during the stage journey – no, he couldn't go there, not even in his mind.

"Can I help you, sonny?" asked the elderly stage coach clerk.

"Yes, sir. My friend boarded the stage in Fenton yesterday morning. I was supposed to meet him here today, but I can't find him. Do you have any information about the passengers on that stage?"

"Stage gets here at 5:15 today, or thereabouts."

"I'm sorry, perhaps I misspoke. I'm inquiring about the stage that left from Fenton YESTERDAY morning, due in here yesterday afternoon."

"That's what I said. The stage that left yesterday is due in today at 5:15. The bridge in Whitestone is washed out, so they had to take the long way all the way around Sage Creek. Didn't your friend tell you that?"

"No. No he did not."

Heyes' mind was whirling. Could Kid have hung on that long? One day's ride on a stage with a bullet in your leg was bad enough, but two days? Would he be okay? Wait a minute…the neighbor lady had said the doc was due in on the stage later that day…Could it be possible..? Heyes dared to hope.

"Anything else, young man?"

"Yes sir. Are there any other stages due in today? Perhaps from Denver?"

"Mister, have you been out in the sun too long? I said the coach is due in at 5:15. That's the only stage coming through here. It starts out in Denver and it passes through Fenton, where you say your friend got on."

A blossom of hope filled Heyes. "Thank you, sir!" he cried. He had a sudden impulse to reach across the counter and hug the old man, but he resisted it.

He started to leave, then doubled back. "Where does the stage let out?" he asked.

"Right in front of the hotel," answered the man.

The Kid was on the same stage as the doc! Heyes thought back to the other passengers he had seen the morning before. Gotta be the older gent in the dark suit, he speculated to himself. Definitely not the young city boy in that gaudy get-up. He found himself fervently and profusely thanking a God he would never have admitted to believing in.

Considerably relieved, Heyes strolled over to the hotel with a spring in his step. He bought a cup of coffee from the hotel café and settled himself down on the veranda to drink it. Someone had left that morning's newspaper on the porch, so he picked it up and started to read. My, my, news sure travels fast, he marveled as he read the lurid details of his own capture and the death of Kid Curry at the hands of the posse. As usual, the reporter had gotten quite a bit of it wrong, but it made good copy. The bold, all-capitals headline read in three inch letters: "KID CURRY SLAIN!" Just underneath in two inch letters were the words, "HANNIBAL HEYES CAPTURED!"

Ha, the Kid got top billing, he thought to himself. Well, he supposed getting killed was more dramatic than getting arrested. He read that "United States Marshall Milton Harcourt heroically shot and mortally wounded the notorious and dangerous gunslinger, Jedediah "Kid" Curry, purported to be 'the fastest gun in the west.' The wanted criminal died of his wounds and was buried in an as-yet-undisclosed location by his equally notorious partner in crime, the infamous outlaw Hannibal Heyes." Yeah, really heroic to shoot a fleeing man from 50 yards away with a rifle, mused Heyes scornfully. The newspaper account went on to say that Harcourt had tracked Hannibal Heyes "doggedly and untiringly for days on end" and finally cornered him and arrested him on a train where he found him "drunk and despondent" – no doubt devastated by the recent loss of his partner in crime. Heyes hoped Rolly hadn't oversold the performance by bawling. After all, he had a tough reputation to live up to. But he smiled to himself, picturing the imitation Heyes looking "wonderfully sad," like the yellow dog in that song Rolly was so fond of. He went on to read about their reign as leaders of the "despicable" Devil's Hole Gang, the "most successful outlaws in the history of the west." There were greatly exaggerated descriptions of some of their train and bank jobs and they also got credit for several crimes they hadn't even committed. Heyes read the purple prose with amusement until the golden rays of the late afternoon sun lulled him to sleep, chin on chest.

ooo

The sun was low in the sky when Heyes was startled awake by the sound of a boy's voice yelling, "The stage coach is coming!"

Folks began to congregate on the hotel veranda and on the street in front of it in anticipation of the coach's arrival. By the time the stage pulled up, there was a small throng gathered to meet it.

Heyes felt absurdly relieved when he recognized the same driver of the coach he had seen in Fenton the previous day reining in his team and braking the stage directly in front of the hotel. Poking out of one window was the eager and smiling face of a fresh-faced young lady. Kid had all the luck, thought Heyes. Here I am worried sick about him and it turns out he's on a stage not only with a doctor but a pretty little traveling companion to boot. Heyes stood up from his chair in anticipation. He wondered to himself if Kid'd be able to walk on his own yet. He might have to help him over to the hotel. Now that his partner was here with some cash he could check in. And take his horse over to the livery. They'd have to buy a new horse and gear, too, but not for a few days, when his partner was up to riding. He'd have time to earn some more cash before then.

Heyes realized he was getting ahead of himself and returned his attention to the stage coach, where the driver was now busily untying the luggage from the top and the passengers were disembarking. First out was the young girl. Heyes raised an eyebrow as she jumped out of the coach nimbly without waiting for a hand down. Several men loitering near the stage had reached up to offer her assistance, but she had ignored them all. Next to exit was the man that could only be the doctor. He reached back to assist the woman Heyes assumed was his wife and the mother of the girl. He chuckled to himself as the older woman instantly laid into the young girl. Heyes couldn't make out all the words, but from the few he could hear and her tone of voice, along with the girl's body language, he could guess the proper-looking matron was none too pleased with her young charge's comportment.

Nonetheless, several of the men in the crowd were definitely pleased and they jostled each other as they made their howdy-dos and tipped their hats to the pretty young gal. A patron exiting the saloon next door let his opinion be known with a loud wolf whistle. Meanwhile, the doctor helped the other older woman from the stage, the tall skinny one. Next came the younger man, the one Heyes thought of as the city slicker in his mind. Now only the Kid was left. Heyes pushed his way through the crowd to the stage, ready to help the doc assist his partner out of the coach, but the doctor was now gathering up pieces of luggage from the pile assembled in the street. Heyes poked his head through the stage door – empty! What? - Heyes felt out of balance, and he took a step back in confusion. There was that same rug being pulled out from beneath his feet again. He staggered slightly and felt a firm hand on his upper arm.

"Steady, there son," came a raspy voice. It was the driver of the stage. "You lookin' for somebody?" he asked.

"My partner…he was supposed to be on this stage… he…he was injured," Heyes stammered.

"Jones? Thaddeus Jones?" queried the driver.

"Yes!" he answered, hope reviving in his chest. "Where is he?"

"Don't you worry none, boy. He's jest fine. Doc over there patched up his leg good as new. But then your partner decided this here stage coach wasn't ideal transportation and he bought hisself a horse. Said he was meetin' you here in Glenview and he was makin' better time than we was when last I sawed him, so my guess is he's around here somewheres."

Then the driver peered around quickly in both directions and leaned in to speak softly into Heyes's ear. Heyes was vaguely aware of voices being raised nearby, but leaned in to hear what the old driver had to say.

"Listen, pal. Watch out for that sissy-boy fella over there. Ya don't want him to know who yer partners with, if ya git my meaning," he warned as he jerked his head toward the young passenger from the coach ride, now shouting loudly to the general assembly.

Heyes turned to eye the city slicker who was causing all the commotion, exhorting anyone who would listen,

"I tell you, we shared this stage coach with the notorious outlaw, Kid Curry! He's somewhere here in Glenview and he's meeting up with his partner, Hannibal Heyes!"

The men surrounding the stage jeered and scoffed.

"Don't you read the papers, boy?" an old codger asked derisively. "Posse caught Hannibal Heyes and shot Kid Curry! Heyes is in jail and Curry is in hell, not on no stage and not here in Glenview."

"No! I mean, yes, he was shot, but he's alive!" stuttered the city slicker. "I got in a gunfight with him!"

This last statement was just too absurd for the locals to swallow and it only made their jeering increase.

"You mean to say _you_ got in a gunfight with Kid Curry and lived to tell about it?" sneered one of the men.

"Hey, maybe he got in a gunfight with the ghost of Kid Curry and he was only firing ghost bullets!" joked another man.

This jibe caused quite a bit of raucous laughter.

"Hey, Tully. You have Kid Curry on your stage?" called one of the onlookers gleefully.

The old stage coach driver laughed. "Yeah, sure did!" he replied with a grin. "And Wild Bill Hickock and Jesse James, too! It was quite a ride, let me tell you."

The crowd around the stage guffawed even louder at this remark and hooted their derision as the increasingly frustrated Jenkins kept insisting that he had tangled with the wanted outlaw.

"I tell you Kid Curry's here! And he's looking for his partner!"

Well that makes two of us, thought Heyes to himself. Only I've looked everywhere in this town where he could possibly be and he just ain't here. He would never give up on his partner and he knew the same was true in reverse. Tully said he had been well ahead of the stage. And everyone in town had heard the news that Heyes was in jail, so Kid must have heard it too, Heyes surmised. That left only one possibility: Kid was on his way to the Masonville jail. Which was the last place either partner should be right now, considering that Marshall Harcourt was on his way there as well.


	13. Chapter 13: Reunited

~ Reunited ~

Heyes had been riding all night, stopping to rest the stolid bay only when he had to. About two hours after dawn, he found himself traveling through an open, scrubby expanse. There was not a speck of shade and the morning sun was surprisingly hot, so he had reluctantly donned Rolly's hat. At least it provided some small relief from the relentless glare. As his horse plodded onward, he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time against the sun's progress. It was still several hours before he'd make Masonville. Come on, Kid, he urged silently. Don't do anything stupid and get yourself caught.

As he snapped shut the watch and slid it back into his vest pocket he scanned the horizon ahead. Was that a puff of dust or his imagination? Yes, it was dust, alright. He rested his right hand on the butt of his gun as he continued walking the horse forward, squinting at the dust cloud. Soon he could make out the silhouette of a lone horseman coming toward him. Although he was way too distant to recognize facial features, Heyes knew in an instant it was his partner. Something about the shape of the hat, the slouch of the shoulders, the way he sat the horse. At the same moment that he called out a joyous,

"Kid!" he heard the jubilant cry,

"Heyes!"

The two riders galloped towards each other, closing the gap between them in a matter of seconds. As they met up, they reined in their horses to meet side-to-side and each man reached out to grasp the other's right hand firmly and administer a hearty slap on his partner's shoulder with the left. Both faces were creased with huge smiles of relief.

"Nice hat," Kid deadpanned.

"Oh, you like it?" Heyes retorted. "Ya know Kid, you've been after me for years to get a new hat."

"Heyes, I didn't think it was possible, but that hat is even worse than your old one," Kid said, shaking his head in mock sorrow.

"I know," his partner admitted cheerfully. "It's hideous! But it saved our skins, didn't it? Rolly needed my clothes and hat to make a convincing Hannibal Heyes."

"Speakin' of Rolly, he sent you this."

The Kid pulled Heyes' beloved hat from the far side of his mount, where it had been hanging from his pommel, hidden from view, and handed it across to his partner.

"My hat!"

Heyes's whole face lit up with elation. He tore the offending hat from his head and tossed it to the ground in disgust, replacing it happily with his own well-worn but beloved black hat. It may be a bit beat up, thought Heyes, but at least it has style. Kid just shook his head, grinning.

"Ya seem happier to see that hat than me," he grumbled, but only jokingly.

"Ya know, Kid, I feel kinda bad," Heyes responded, although his countenance was anything but sorrowful.

"I promised Rolly a free trip to Wyoming for helping us out, but I found out that Harcourt decided he wanted to have the honor of bringing me in personally, so he's on his way to Masonville to fetch me. So when he finds out it's not really Hannibal Heyes sitting in that jail, but just old Rolly Olsen, he'll let him go – even farther away from Wyoming than he was when I first ran across him."

"Don't feel too bad about Rolly, Heyes. He made me pay him for your hat – cost me my last twenty bucks."

"Gee thanks, Kid. And I didn't get you anything," Heyes was all smiles and dimples, feeling truly happy for the first time in several days.

"Yeah, you did," Kid answered, suddenly serious. "You saved both our necks from Harcourt. And you got me all patched up, too."

"Aw, Kid, I forgot all about your leg!"

"Well I sure as hell didn't," griped Curry.

"How is it?" Heyes asked, trying to angle his horse around to get a view of Kid's left leg.

"Fine. Just a little sore," the Kid answered. "Come on, let's get out of here. I've been riding all night and I'm guessing you were, too."

"Yeah, when I figured out you went to Masonville to bust me out and that Harcourt was on his way there, too, I reckoned I'd better not waste any time."

"So where to?"

"Well, Masonville's out, for obvious reasons. And you can't show your face in Glenview. Some yahoo was spouting off to everyone in earshot about being on the same stage with Kid Curry – a_nd_ getting into a gunfight with him."

"Ha. Kind of a one-sided gunfight," scoffed Curry. "Maybe head back to Fredricksburg? That's the place I telegraphed you from."

Heyes looked at him blankly. Kid raised one eyebrow.

"You did get my telegraph?"

No answer.

"In Glenview? The one saying not to worry that I wasn't on the stage 'cuz the doc already fixed me up?"

Still no answer.

"Come on, Heyes! Ya didn't check the telegraph office? You're the one made up that rule! If one of us don't show up to a pre-arranged meetin' place, the other one checks the telegraph office first thing."

"Well, how was I supposed to know you deviated from the plan! You were supposed to be in the doctor's office in Glenview! You're not supposed to deviate from the plan."

"So how come you're allowed to deviate from the plan and I ain't?"

"Kid, I _had_ to deviate from the plan – running across Rolly like that was all too perfect!"

"Well, I had to deviate from the plan, too. That scumbag Jenkins figured out who I was!"

"Not 'til you had to go and prove it to him, Kid! What were you thinking, drawing on him?"

"I was thinking of not getting kilt or turned in to the law, Heyes! And besides, that happened AFTER I deviated from the plan!"

"What are you saying?"

"After I sent the wire in Fredricksburg I found out you went and got yourself arrested - or at least I thought you did! It was on my way to Masonville to bust YOU out that I happened to run across the same stage I'd been riding in."

"So you stopped to say how de do, folks? Remember me, Kid Curry?" Heyes asked sarcastically. "Why did you stop at all?"

"Well, they was stuck in the mud, Heyes," explained Curry as if it was the most obvious thing possible. Probably still be there if I hadn't come along."

"Oh, I get it, Kid, I get it. Always helping the needy folk – yeah, I saw her. She's a pretty one, alright." Heyes shook his head in exasperation.

"Heyes, it wasn't like that. Those folks saved my life. And they all figured out who I was, but Jenkins was the only one who wanted to do something about it. I owed them. And if you had just checked the telegraph office like you was supposed to…"

"Kid, it just didn't make sense to me that you could even be anywhere to telegraph _from_! I couldn't even figure how you could have survived that stage journey, what with the shape you were in and the detour and all. I was worried sick aboutcha."

"Well, how do ya think _I_ felt when I heard you'd been arrested?"

They stared at each other stubbornly for a long moment. Heyes was the first to crack a smile.

"So that makes us even, right?" Heyes grinned.

Kid just couldn't stay mad at his partner. He found himself grinning too.

"So, how far's this Fredricksburg?" Heyes asked.

"Only about a day's ride east of here. And it's safe. Everyone there thinks I'm dead and you're in jail. And they were all real cut up about it, too. I didn't exactly have time to stay in the hotel, but it looked nice enough. How much money you got left?"

"Yeah. About that, Kid…"

"Heyes, when we split up, you had near $300!"

"Well, there was the stage fare, and then I gave Rolly a sawbuck to pretend he was me. And then there was the telegraph, a night in the hotel… and I had to buy this horse and gear and I sure got shafted on that deal … and… well, I got into a little trouble in a poker game in Harrison. Some damn fool accused me of cheating! And, well, you weren't there to back me up, so I had to leave the whole pile on the table…" He heaved a large sigh.

Kid chuckled. "So you did miss me a little, huh?"

"Almost as much as my hat…"


	14. Chapter 14

Several hours later, Heyes and Curry were passing through a wooded area. The trail here followed along the course of a small stream. They'd been riding all day, each one filling in the other on his adventures while they'd been apart. After some time passed, Heyes noticed he was doing most of the talking. He turned back to see his partner nodding in his saddle. He announced loudly,

"Let's stop here and make camp, Kid. We can rest up and then ride the rest of the way into Fredricksburg in the morning."

Kid was grateful for the respite. He'd been feeling ready to drop. Now that the partners were safely reunited, the combination of worry and adrenaline that had been fueling him had evaporated, leaving him physically drained. With every step his horse took, he felt the pain from his injured leg radiating through his body.

"Sounds like a good plan to me. These horses are plum wore out."

"Come on, I'll take care of the horses while you fix supper," Heyes said, giving his partner the easier job. "That way you can at least sit down and rest your leg. I have one can of beans left in my saddlebags," he added apologetically, knowing the Kid was probably hungry.

"That's okay. I bought some food from the Station Master's wife. She even gave me extra when I told her I was meeting up with my partner. Huh, so I guess this food is actually yours, Heyes." Curry set to work building a small fire, whistling to himself cheerfully now that all was right with the world again.

After dinner, Kid performed his nightly gun-cleaning ritual, then pulled out his partner's weapon. "Heyes! You haven't cleaned this gun since the last time I did!" he admonished.

"Why should I clean my gun when I know you're going to do it for me?" Heyes answered innocently.

Kid rolled his eyes and set to work on the task. While he oiled the Schofield, Heyes gathered up the dishes, efficiently washed them in the stream, and packed them away, chatting amiably as they both worked.

By the time he'd handed his partner's now gleaming pistol back to him, Curry was completely exhausted. His eyelids kept drooping southward but he was fighting valiantly to stay awake. While Heyes was in mid-sentence, the blond head finally fell back onto the saddle Kid was leaning up against. Heyes smiled gently at his sleeping partner, then covered him up with his own blanket and sat himself down on a nearby rock. He would take the first watch - and the second, too. Kid needed to rest. He would pass the time by coming up with a few different plans. In the morning he could run them past his partner to see which one he fancied.

ooo

It was well past midnight when he heard Kid stirring. "What did you let me sleep for, Heyes? I said I'd take second watch."

"You know me, Kid, I couldn't sleep. And you need to rest so that leg will heal up. But I wouldn't mind a few hours now. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. What is it, about 2:00?" Kid hauled himself up, grimacing as he put weight onto his leg.

"Half past. Wake me at four, okay?" Heyes snuggled into Kid's bedroll, still warm from his partner's body heat.

"I'll see how I feel," grunted Kid, pouring himself a cup of coffee and taking his place on the rock. He planned to make it 'til sunup. After all, Heyes had let him sleep. He wanted to return the favor.

ooo

"Joshua," the Kid whispered pointedly as he nudged his partner awake.

"Wake up." Then he continued speaking in a louder voice,

"Joshua, it's your turn to take the watch."

Heyes was instantly alert. Something was up.

"Thaddeus," he yawned, pretending to still be sleepy. "What time is it? Why didn't you wake me sooner? How much extra did you let me sleep?" He struggled into his boots, looking at Kid's face closely.

"Just one hour," answered the Kid, cutting his eyes slightly to the left and behind Heyes, letting his partner know with his answer that there was only one intruder in their camp, while his glance communicated in which direction he was lurking as well.

"Let me take a leak first," answered Heyes, standing up and stretching. "Did you check on the horses lately?"

"Naw," said Kid, this time telling Heyes that the visitor was on foot, "but I'll check on 'em now."

A lone pursuer on foot was not as dangerous as a posse on horseback, but both partners knew to be cautious anyway. They couldn't afford to be careless and let someone get the drop on them. Heyes circled around to the right and Kid to the left in hopes of surrounding their quarry.

Curry and Heyes crept stealthily through the underbrush, guns drawn, ears and eyes straining to hear or see their unwelcome visitor. The quarter moon had already set, but the sky was beginning to lighten and the black shapes around them were slowly revealing themselves as bushes, stumps, and fallen trees. At the same moment, they each stepped through some scraggly bushes into an area under a clump of very tall trees with little undergrowth. The canopy was thicker here, and the pre-dawn light didn't penetrate it. Before their eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, they heard a furtive scuttling sound in the leaf litter. A dark shape loomed up, but before they could get a decent look, the shadowed figure suddenly leapt nimbly into a low-hanging branch and scrambled up one of the trees.

"Did you see that?" whispered Curry, squinting up into the branches. "Never saw a man skin up a tree that fast before," he marveled.

"Maybe it's a monkey," offered his partner.

"Very funny, Heyes."


	15. Chapter 15 - Complications

"Ya gotta come down sooner or later," drawled the Kid patiently. He was leaning with his back against the tree, arms crossed over his chest, pistol in his right hand, finger on the trigger and at the ready.

"Oh, come on, Thaddeus," interjected Heyes impatiently. "I want to go back to sleep. Couldn't you just shoot him down?" Heyes was pacing back and forth, gun also drawn, peering up into the shadowy branches, trying to get a good look at their uninvited visitor.

"Well, I could at that," Kid responded lazily. He pushed himself away from the tree, stood up straight, then turned slowly and raised his Colt, pointing it up into the canopy.

"I'm not armed. Don't shoot!"

Both men turned to catch each other's gaze, eyebrows raised quizzically, surprised to hear a woman's voice emanating from the branches overheard.

They were even more surprised when the woman suddenly sprang from the tree and landed lightly between them.

"Miss Granger," spluttered Kid, nonplussed, recognizing the girl with whom he had shared the stage.

Heyes also recognized the young woman from their brief encounter the previous day, although she was now somewhat disheveled compared to the other time he'd seen her. Her hat was twisted around her neck by the ribbons, her hair coming loose from the elaborate coiffure and festooned with a few twigs and leaves tangled in it. Her dress was rumpled and there were streaks of dirt on the skirt and a smudge on one cheek. Nevertheless, he was struck once again by her delicate features and her bright, curious eyes. She was certainly a pretty gal, he thought for the second time.

Oblivious to Heyes' scrutiny, the girl looked expectantly from one partner to the other, as if she was awaiting a hearty welcome. Instead, her erstwhile fellow passenger from the stagecoach just stared at her open-mouthed, while his dark-haired companion pushed his hat onto the back of his head, planted both hands on slim hips, and demanded,

"How on earth did _you_ get here?"

000

"I ran away," she answered eagerly. "I've come to join the Devil's Hole Gang!"

"Devil's Hole Gang!" Curry scoffed. "What makes you think we got anything to do with that gang of dirty, lowdown outlaws?"

Evie replied impatiently, "Oh, let's please don't pretend! I know who you are! I knew even before you drew on Jenkins! My Uncle and Aunt figured it out, too. But we didn't say anything. We won't say anything!"

Even though he knew the answer good and well, Heyes couldn't resist asking, "Just who exactly do you think my partner is, Miss?"

She rolled her eyes before replying, "He's Kid Curry of course, so that means you must be Hannibal Heyes!"

"Haven't you heard the news, young lady?" Heyes, answered, shaking his head somberly, "Hannibal Heyes is in jail and Kid Curry was shot dead by a posse."

"Shot, yes, but not dead! My own uncle removed the bullet! And Hannibal Heyes is not in jail anymore because HE just went to Masonville and busted YOU out" she exclaimed triumphantly.

"Well, that's where you're wrong, little lady," Heyes answered glibly. "I haven't been to Masonville recently, much less spent any time in jail there. In fact, I was just in Glenview yesterday where I happened to see you get off the stage. If you want proof, I can describe to you in great detail the old driver - Tully I believe I heard him called - your aunt and uncle, the man in the ill-fitting suit - Jenkins I presume? - and even the dour-looking old lady that surely must have been a schoolmarm in her younger days. Shall I?"

"Huh. _He_ could have told you all that," she said, smiling smugly and gesturing at the Kid, who had finally closed his mouth, but had yet to utter a single word after pronouncing her name.

Heyes had to admit to himself she was right about that, so he upped the ante, "Well, then, how about the young gentleman that was loitering in front of the saloon who whistled at you as you hopped out of the stage? Shall I describe him? Or perhaps instead I could repeat the dressing down your aunt gave you for jumping out of the coach in such 'an unladylike fashion'?" He spoke the last three words in a quite credible impression of the old lady's prim speaking voice.

Evie's face turned pink. "Okay, you really were there," she admitted. She thought for just a minute before resuming. "But HE didn't know it! He rode to Masonville to bust you out, but you were in Glenview expecting to meet him, which is why you were watching us get off the stage! But he wasn't on the stage – oh, you must have been worried sick because he had been shot!"

She looked sympathetically at the darker haired partner, then suddenly brightened and went on,

"But then you must have found out he had been traveling with a doctor, so you knew he was okay. And then you figured out he went to Masonville! So then you both met up somewhere along the road between Glenview and Masonville." She smiled happily, both at the fact that she had worked it out and also that she just knew they'd have to admit she was right. And then wouldn't they just _have_ to let her join the gang?

"Well, if folks checked telegraph offices like they was _supposed_ to, nobody woulda been so worried sick," grumbled Curry.

"So can I join? Can I be in the gang?" she pressed on, ignoring the Kid's complaint.

Curry stared at her in disbelief, then spluttered, "We are NOT Curry and Heyes and even if we _were_ Curry and Heyes, we would NOT let you be in the gang!"

Heyes gave his partner a look that clearly meant shut up and let me handle this. Curry sighed in exasperation, crossed his arms over his chest and appeared to be studying his boots intently while Heyes addressed the girl placatingly,

"Now why would a nice young lady like you want to join up with a gang of desperate outlaws? Commit crimes? Do evil deeds?"

"Evil deeds!?" she exclaimed. "Everyone knows you two only rob banks and trains. That isn't like you're robbing real people. It's not like you're hurting anyone!"

"Yeah, that's what we used to say to ourselves all the time, too," he replied. "But try telling that to a posse when they're shooting at you."

Curry's head shot up, giving his partner a dark, meaningful Look. "Joshua, what are you saying? Why would _we_ know anything about robbing banks and trains?" he asked innocently.

"Aw, come on, Kid. She knows who we are and there's no use in pretending anymore. Besides, she ain't gonna turn us in. She coulda done that already. So could her aunt and uncle and they chose not to. I want her to believe us when we tell her quite firmly that she CANNOT join the Devil's Hole Gang with us because we are no longer IN the Devil's Hole Gang. We quit! We retired! We went straight."

"You two? Straight?" She started giggling.

"As the proverbial arrow," replied Heyes. "Over a year now."

"Oh, please! You must think I'm really stupid! Why would you do that? You're still wanted – dead or alive! If you went straight, you would still have lawmen chasing after you and trying to catch you – and blaming you for everything that goes wrong. Why would you do something so dumb?"

"She's got a good point there…" muttered the Kid under his breath.

"We have our reasons," answered Heyes cagily. "We're just not at liberty to divulge them."

Kid stepped between them, bending over to address the much shorter young woman more or less face-to-face, "Okay, enough jawing. We're gonna take you back to Glenview." He stood up straight. "Let's go. Where's your horse?"

"I tied him off about 100 yards that way," she gestured with a slender arm, then turned back to gaze at the Kid, wonderingly. "…so I wouldn't make any noise. But you knew anyway! And I was real quiet! How did you know I was here?"

"Just knew is all," Curry answered simply, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's a talent he has – saved our skins more'n once!" his partner said proudly.

"Well, I have talents, too! Great talents, talents that could help you out a lot! You heard my uncle say I was in the Circus, but he didn't tell you what I did there!" Evie was warming to her topic, convinced that once the outlaw leaders saw her value they'd beg her to be in the gang.

"I'm a trick rider," she boasted proudly, "I can do all kinds of stunts – and I'm great with horses. I can train 'em up to do 'most anything! I could be your getaway rider – I can ride hanging on to the side of a horse so it looks riderless! And I do the tight-rope and the trapeze, too! That could come in handy getting onto a train or something! And I can do all kinds of tumbling – and I can get in and out of small spaces – and I'm really strong! Well, strong for my size! Folks don't expect women to be strong – they don't expect women to be able to do any of those things, so it would be a real surprise – throw them off their guard. I could be your secret weapon!"

Her words were tumbling out of her in her efforts to persuade them. Her eyes were shining with excitement and her enthusiasm was so contagious, Heyes couldn't help but laugh appreciatively.

"Where were you about three years ago?" he mused. "We sure coulda used you on that Denver job when –

"HEYES!" interjected the Kid, scandalized. "She's a girl. We would never have let her join the gang. There ain't no women allowed in the Devil's Hole."

"But I could disguise myself!" Evie went on eagerly. "I could dress like a boy – no one would ever know."

"I kinda suspect all that hair just might give you away," Curry drawled laconically.

"I could cut it off!" was the immediate rejoinder.

"Now THAT would be a real criminal offense," answered Curry, shaking his head sadly as he admired the thick chestnut waves that were now cascading over Evie's shoulders. Her cheeks turned quite pink under the Kid's gaze.

Heyes sat down on a nearby fallen log during this exchange, shaking his head. He took off his battered black hat with one hand and raked the other through his hair, then replaced the hat, sighing heavily. Even when he wasn't trying to be, the Kid was such a flirt!

"What are you sitting down for? We gotta get her home," urged Kid.

"Correction. _I_ will be escorting Miss Granger back to Glenview. You cannot show your face in that town and you know it."

"Awww, so we're splitting up again? You know I hate it when we split up. Where we gonna meet up? Fredricksburg, right? Folks there are right fond of us."

"Well, I was thinking maybe – "

"Ahem," interrupted Evie. "I hate to intrude on your conversation, but aren't you forgetting something here? What if I don't WANT to go back to Glenview. You can't make me."

Kid rested his right hand pointedly on his gun handle and gave her his best steely-eyed gunslinger's stare.

"Oh, please. I know you aren't going to shoot me." She folded her arms across her chest stubbornly.

"Well, then, I'll sling you over my shoulder and carry you back home like a sack of feed." Kid made a move toward her as if he was really going to do it.

Evie leapt aside. "You'll have to catch me first!" she taunted. And gathering up her skirts with both hands, she started to sprint in the direction of her horse.

Curry made to run after her, but he was slowed down considerably by his wound, which was sending a stab of pain up his entire leg every time he took a stride. The distance between him and the fleeing girl was increasing steadily. He expected his partner to pass him up any moment. When he didn't, Curry looked over his shoulder to find out what was taking Heyes so long - only to see him still seated comfortably on the log, ankle crossed over knee, arms folded across his chest, smiling at the Kid's clumsy attempt at running.

"Come on!" Kid stopped running and shouted, exasperated. "What are you just sitting there for? Go get her!"

Heyes replied calmly, "Why? You heard her say quite plainly that she didn't want to go back. She's a grown woman, Kid. We can't kidnap her and take her somewhere against her will. You do realize that that _is_ an actual criminal offense."

"But Heyes!" Kid sputtered helplessly. "A gal like that – she ain't safe wandering around the countryside by herself, especially in the middle of the night."

"It's not our problem, Kid."

"Not our problem? How can you just sit there so calmly and say it's not our problem when – oh, look. There she goes. Come on, we can still catch her on horseback."

They could see the figure of the mounted girl galloping away, her hair streaming behind her as she disappeared over a rise. Kid made to head for the horses.

Heyes grabbed his partner by the upper arm and held him back, saying, "Don't worry, Kid. She'll be back."

"She'll be back? Heyes, she wants to join the Devil's Hole Gang! She's probably on her way to Wyoming to look for it! Who knows what could happen to her! We can't let her go!"

"Kid, you may be the fastest gun in the west, but sometimes you are so slow it is astounding."

"What the hell are you talking about now, Heyes?"

"You're so innocent – it's really quite endearing!"

"Would you please tell me what in creation you are getting at before I flatten you?!"

"Do you think that girl had any notion of joining the Devil's Hole Gang before she shared a stagecoach with Kid Curry? And a wounded Kid Curry, at that." Heyes shook his head back and forth slowly and sighed helplessly. "Kid, you just don't know the effect you have on innocent young girls. Did you notice her staring at you a lot on the coach ride? You probably flirted with her, too, didn't you?"

"Heyes, I was either passed out or asleep pretty much the whole time! So no, I did not flirt with her. Unless you consider bleeding out of a hole in your leg flirting."

"Oh, she saw you sleeping. That seals it," Heyes nodded knowingly.

"HEYES! Quit acting weird!"

"Kid, you know how women get all soft and mushy when they're around little boys? Well, I hate to tell you this, but when you're sleeping, you look just like a little boy. Kind of sweet and angelic." Heyes was enjoying his partner's reaction to his teasing.

"I'll show you sweet and angelic," Kid said through gritted teeth, balling his hands into fists. He really was going to have to flatten Heyes to get him to shut up.

"Yep. And now that she's seen me as well, she'll be back for sure. You wait and see. Two handsome and romantic outlaws. How can a young gal resist?" Heyes finally broke into a grin, and then started laughing out loud.

"I don't like it, Heyes. She ain't safe out there." Curry obstinately insisted.

"Don't fret. She'll be back. And somehow I'll convince her that she wants to go home to her family. And I'll take her back. And then we'll meet up in Fredricksburg, just like you planned."

"Well, come on then. Let's at least follow her so if you're right, it'll be easier for her to find us again."


	16. Chapter 16

The late afternoon sun had taken the chill off the air. Both partners had removed their coats some time ago. They had ridden a good twenty miles since they'd set out that morning. Heyes called for a short break to rest their horses, so he said, but he was actually more concerned with the strain on his partner's leg.

Heyes and Curry were sitting on the edge of an open field hemmed in by the road on one side, and by thick woods on the other three sides. There was a split-rail fence, somewhat in disrepair, lining the road., and they had thrown their reins loosely over the top rail so their horses could graze if they wished. Curry dug out what was left of the beef jerky in his saddlebags and limped back to where his partner was sitting, his back leaning up against a fence post facing the field, lean legs stretched out on the ground in front of him, feet crossed at the ankles.

Kid tossed his partner half the jerky, then eased himself down into a sitting position in front of the neighboring fencepost and gingerly stretched out his sore leg, shifting around some, trying to find a comfortable position. His upper leg was throbbing, but he didn't want Heyes to see the pain on his face so he leaned his head back against the post and tipped his hat over his eyes. He was just dozing off when suddenly he sat straight up, instantly alert, right hand automatically resting on his gun handle.

"You hear that, Heyes? Rider coming! "

A moment later, a saddled horse, apparently riderless, burst out of the trees to their left and went thundering past them. Their own two horses, alarmed by the intrusion, whinnied and pawed at the earth nervously.

"Heyes, that's Evie's horse! He must've thrown her! We better go find her – she might be hurt!"

Kid struggled to stand, but Heyes prevented him from rising by grabbing his arm.

"Kid, no horse could throw that girl. She's a trick rider, remember? Remember how she told us how she could hang onto the side of the horse so's it'd look riderless? That's what she's doing. Don't worry; she'll be back."

"Well, she said she could do all kinds of crazy stunts…" his partner began skeptically.

"Kid, when a pretty girl starts talking, do you ever actually listen to what she has to say, or do you just stare at her lips moving?"

Before Curry could protest, they heard the horse coming back, heading in the opposite direction. This time they could see its rider – hanging onto the horse upside down, head perilously close to the ground, one leg hooked over the saddle and the other pointing incongruously yet gracefully horizontal to the horse.

Kid gaped in amazement. Heyes just grinned. "Sit back and relax, Kid," he chuckled. "I think we're in for our own private show."

There was a short delay before the horse returned, this time in a slower trot. It was no longer wearing a saddle - just Evie, standing on its bare back in her bare feet, skirts and hair billowing in her wake as she thundered by, smiling sweetly and waving at them saucily.

On her next pass, Evie was standing on one leg, holding the other in both hands, nearly vertically, toe pointed daintily. Neither man could understand how she was able to maintain her balance in such a precarious pose - or even manage to get into such a precarious pose to begin with. Spontaneously, they both began to clap.

After she disappeared again they wondered aloud what could possibly be next, only to be answered by Evie's latest return. This time she was lounging on her side along the animal's back, head supported by one hand, bent elbow resting on the horse's flank. In the other hand she was holding an apple, from which she casually took a bite as she galloped by. Heyes whistled with his fingers in his mouth and Kid waved his hat and whooped.

The next time she went by, she was lying on her stomach, head end facing the horse's tail, her chin propped up in her hands with both elbows on the horse's rump. More astonishingly, her knees were bent and her two feet – again with toes pointed prettily – were resting on the top of her head. More applause, whoops, and whistles ensued.

When horse and rider next appeared, Heyes hooted and clapped enthusiastically at the latest pose, but the Kid became flustered and seemed to not know where to look. Evie was now upside down, balanced somehow on her head and hands, both legs pointing straight up to the sky, her skirts falling around her face and her ruffled bloomers clearly visible among a swirl of lacy petticoats.

"Evie!" Kid bellowed, standing up quickly, forgetting about his injury and catching hold of the fence with one hand to prevent himself from falling. "Get down off that horse!"

Heyes was laughing too hard to speak, but scrambled to his feet, clapping enthusiastically. Kid stood staring at the horse and rider, torn between admiration at the impressive trick and shock at the blatant display of ladies' undergarments.

Obligingly, Evie circled the field, still in a headstand. This time just as she passed in front of her two-man audience, she arched her back and leapt off the horse backwards. She landed feet first in front of them, her petticoats and skirts falling into place. When her face was revealed, it was wreathed in smiles, her cheeks flushed pink from exertion, eyes sparkling, and hair in even more of a tumble than it had been earlier. She performed a deep, dramatic bow and straightened up with a showy flourish, one hand on her hip, the other outstretched in a theatrical pose, graciously acknowledging the men's applause.

"That was amazing! You really do have talents!" Heyes exclaimed. "Wasn't that something, Kid?"

"Yeah, it was something alright! Evie, you shouldn't be showing your knickers like that!" the Kid scolded. He was genuinely impressed by all the tricks, but still a little scandalized by that last one.

"I wasn't allowed to keep my costumes," she answered apologetically. "So I couldn't do all the stunts I know – some are too hard in all these clothes. I get tangled up in all this fabric. And I didn't have time to teach Suzy here more than these couple tricks."

She whistled softly through her teeth and the riderless horse promptly trotted over to them and began to nuzzle her arm. She pulled the apple core from somewhere on her person and offered it to Suzy, patting her affectionately on the withers. Then she smiled up at the two former outlaws,

"So are you convinced?"

"Yes, Evie, we're convinced," began Heyes, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Convinced that you are indeed a wonderful circus performer. Now how do _we_ convince _you_ that we've gone straight?"

Evie bit her lower lip and gazed up into the deep brown eyes of Hannibal Heyes. Then she turned to do the same into the sky blue eyes of Kid Curry. Finally she answered slowly,

"The only way it would make any kind of sense is if you were promised some kind of pardon or amnesty - like the Cactus Kid got in _The Outlaw Wore a Badge_. Is that it?"

Heyes grinned, deducing that even circus girls from back East read dime novels about the so-called Wild West, and replied,

"But if we _were_ promised something like that, it would be on the condition we kept it a secret."

"I see…. so I guess I won't be joining the Devil's Hole Gang after all…." she said with obvious disappointment. Suddenly she brightened up,

"But I could still ride with you two, right?" She looked eagerly from one to the other. "You could use someone like me to help you stay clear of the law! I could train your horses and teach you tricks and throw off suspicions and—"

"Whoah, there! The only place you'll be riding with us is back to Glenview. And we'd best get started. We're a whole day's ride away and your aunt and uncle will be worried sick by now," responded Heyes authoritatively.

Kid looked up, surprised, and said, "_We_? Thought you said I couldn't come?"

"I changed my mind, Kid. You can come as long you stay hidden once we get to town. I want the doc to look at your leg. I don't like the way you're favoring it."

"It's fine, Heyes. I don't need no doc," Curry scowled.

"Yes, you do, Kid," Heyes said, staring at the Kid meaningfully. "Remember how you woke up this morning with that fever?"

"What are you talking about, a fever –" Kid broke off, belatedly catching on. "Oh, yeah… I guess I forgot…the _fever._"

"Riding all over the countryside with a serious injury like that, and no proper medical attention. You know, you lost a great deal of blood, too." Heyes shook his head sadly, his face clouded with worry. "I'd really hate for you to get an infection or something…"

"He's right," piped up Evie. "Uncle Henry said more than once you shouldn't have been riding so soon. You really should have him take a look at it."

Heyes turned to Evie with a dimple in his cheek and a gleam in his eye, "So you'll go back with us? We'll need your help to sneak my partner in through the back door."

"Yes. I will," she agreed, looking worriedly at the Kid's injured leg.

Heyes & Curry met eyes for a moment, Heyes with a self-satisfied smirk and Kid with silent approval of a job well done. Heyes was doubly satisfied. He'd figured a way to get the girl home with no further protests and at the same time get his partner back to the doctor. He'd exaggerated his concerns in order to persuade Evie, but nevertheless they were real enough. He couldn't help noting that his partner's leg seemed to be getting worse instead of better.

"So, do you think maybe it's time we were introduced?" Heyes asked, smiling engagingly at the girl.

"Oh, sorry, Heyes. Excuse my manners. I would like you to meet …Miss Evangeline Granger."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger."

"Oh, please call me Evie."

"Evie." Heyes pronounced solemnly as he bent over and kissed her hand dramatically. Kid rolled his eyes as she giggled happily. And he calls me a flirt!

"So can I call you Hannibal?"

"No! No one calls me that – well, hardly anyone – not even him. Just call me Joshua and him Thaddeus. We don't want you to get in the habit of calling us by our real names in case you slip up when somebody else is around."

"I wouldn't slip up!" she protested, "but alright. How do you do, Joshua? Nice to see you again, Thaddeus." She made a pretty little curtsey to each man.

"So, shall we be on our way?" Heyes asked gallantly.


End file.
